


Tell You My Sins

by zabiume



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dubious Science, F/M, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Rukia - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison Sex, RenHime Friendship, Setting-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 81,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabiume/pseuds/zabiume
Summary: The arrival of a new doctor proves to be life-changing for the inmates at Seireitei State Penitentiary — especially for Kurosaki Ichigo, whose shadowy past has a way of catching up to him at the most unfortunate of circumstances. IchiHime AU.
Relationships: Abarai Renji & Inoue Orihime, Inoue Orihime/Kurosaki Ichigo, Ishida Uryuu/Sado "Chad" Yasutora
Comments: 61
Kudos: 66





	1. The Inmate

**Author's Note:**

> I was initially going to keep this exclusive to ff . net, but I figured I'd upload it here, too. 
> 
> UPDATE: {16-02-2020]: Yes, the title has been shortened. 
> 
> Rating is 'T' so far, warnings for mentions of PTSD and setting-typical violence.

The overhead lights flashed with a straining flicker, the rapid on-and-off movement making Ichigo's head hurt. Someone was yelling -- probably a warden -- while gurneys and wheelchairs seemed to rattle around at an accelerated speed to make way for him. He groaned in pain. Maybe mumbled something like 'nrgh' or 'fuck' -- he couldn't tell, his tongue was heavy in his mouth. Through all the chaos and noise, however, he heard someone say to him, barely above a whisper:

" _ Shh, you're gonna be okay. _ "

Somehow, among all the oddities that had happened in the last 72 hours,  _ that _ was the strangest thing he'd heard.

x.x

When Ichigo next woke up, it could have been hours or even days later. He couldn't tell.

His mouth was groggy-- numb with the aftertaste of painkillers and a broken tooth. There were dull aches in his kidneys, in the patches of skin where the other inmates had attacked him. Most of them were cheapshots, taken while he'd been overwhelmed, restrained and outnumbered -- and they hurt like a bitch.

"His blood pressure's coming down," he heard someone say above him, with relieved sigh. Soft. Feminine. "Most of his bruises are surface-level, though his broken rib right here?" He heard the flutter of paper, probably an X-ray, being passed around. "Any deeper and it could have caused pneumonia," she finished.

If Ichigo was fully conscious, he would have scowled. He was in pain, as it was. The last thing he wanted to think about was 'any deeper than it was.'

He settled for trying to recognize the voice, instead. It was unfamiliar, for one, mainly due to its obvious difference from Dr. Iemura's, but also because it sounded  _ concerned _ . There was not a lot of that to go around here -- especially not for someone like him.

"This is an average Tuesday for Kurosaki, Dr. Inoue," another voice joked.

Ichigo clenched his teeth. So Abarai was on call, then; that explained why Ichigo was alive for the most part and not beaten to every inch of his life. Despite being a pain in the ass, Abarai Renji was one of the few fair men that guarded the cells of Seireitei State Penitentiary. Calling him a friend was a stretch, but Abarai did have a penchant for finding him whenever he was in deep shit. And, by most bodily measures, Ichigo supposed having a broken rib counted as  _ deep shit. _

"You can't be serious, Abarai-san," she said, sounding horrified. Ichigo resisted the urge to crane his head and look at her. She was definitely new if she thought  _ this _ was the most he'd gotten in his time here. "I-if this has happened before, then surely the patient should be transferred to the maximum security wing? Or at least a complaint form should be filled in, attached with the doctor's, erm,  _ my _ recommendation!"

Another bark of laughter came from somewhere north of Ichigo's bed. Guard Iba, probably. He was the one that was usually partnered up on shifts with Renji.

"The runts here get antsy after being caged for so long," he said dismissively. "Sometimes they let off their steam on each other and us do-gooders," Ichigo assumed he was pointing at himself and Renji. "We go in there and pick up the pieces when things settle down." He slurped his drink and then set it down on the table with a light 'thud'. "Plenty of doctors come in here horrified at first. Our guys will do that to you. But it's not really a big deal, Dr. Inoue. Kurosaki, especially, is an old-timer. You don't gotta worry about him."

There was a brief silence. Dr. Inoue-- or at least, Ichigo presumed it was her -- seemed to fidget by his bedside, playing with the clasp of his blood pressure cuffs.

"I still think we should be more concerned about this, Iba-san," she said, softly. "My job is to take care of your men. If this kind of thing happens all the time to my patient, then my priority is to heal him, sure. But..."

_ Your job is to make sure his ass doesn't get kicked in the first place, _ Ichigo finished in his head for her. And she was right, but he hated himself for agreeing with her. This was a maximum security state penitentiary, not kindergarten. He could handle his own and he  _ could have _ handled his own, had he not been ambushed at sun-down. Having the new doctor stick up for him was an embarrassing reminder of his failure to protect himself adequately.

"She's right," Abarai cut in, sounding impressed. "The warden doesn't usually care for complaint reports, but we should file them anyway. Do it by the book." There was a rustle of movements, a few chairs dragging like Iba and Renji were ready to leave. Renji murmured something, asking Iba to carry on without him. When the latter left, the room was quiet again.

"You know, I was like you when I first started here, Dr. Inoue," Renji said, kindly, "This place -- it's hard to fix a system that's been running this way for eons. But maybe you'll bring about a change, who knows?" There was the sound of retreating footsteps. "Che. You'd definitely be the first one that tried, anyway."

"Thanks for your help, Abarai-san," Dr. Inoue said sweetly.

"No problem," Renji called out. Then, as an afterthought. "Looking forward to working with ya, doc."

  
  


____

  
  
  


Orihime's first impression of the penitentiary was that it smelled. Not in a bad way, just...overpowering. The draft of brine carried over from the vents in her office, drowning the entire room in a sticky, watery heat. Not to mention, there was low lighting pretty much everywhere, making it hard to see around her office.

Right. Her office. The board on the door still said 'Yasochika Iemura' -- the name of her predecessor, but to all intents and purposes, it was hers now. Renji had said he would send someone by later during the day to take it down, but she was in no rush. Her employment as Seireitei's primary prison doctor had been pretty last minute, seeing as their old one had suddenly quit without warning. Between packing her things, a full tour of the prison, and getting settled into her office, Orihime hadn't the time to breathe or reflect on her new job or what it entailed. She had recently finished her residency, and this opportunity had just landed in her lap like a miracle. She'd been too broke and too excited to mull it over, much to the dismay of her friends, who had gone on to work for private hospitals and other clinics scattered across the city.

She rummaged through the boxes of supplies, ensuring everything was where it was supposed to be. The last doctor was not very well organized, nor did he seem keen on personalizing his office, but he did have a very strict administration of medical records. Those would be useful.

Orihime fished out the box that held details on all patients 'H-N'. Humming to herself, she pulled out the record on 'Kurosaki, Ichigo."

Flipping through the admittedly short file, Orihime had to bite back a laugh at his mug shot. Unlike the unconscious man who was lying in the wards at the moment, the picture showed him with a full-blown scowl, drawing his eyebrows and mouth into a downward line.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," she read out loud. "Age: 26, Sex: Male, Blood Type: A. Spare a broken nose and a few other, non-consequential visits to the infirmary since his arrival, inmate #1503 has no concerning medical history. No history of tobacco or alcohol consumption, psychiatric evaluations normal upon examination, save a..." Orihime squinted at the blurred ink. "Shy temperament?" That was definitely not it. There were a few letters smudged in there, possibly due to the age of the document. She didn't have time to examine it closer, however, upon hearing a resounding crash coming from the wards.

_ Oh no!  _ her brain chimed. Tatsuki had told her that prison would be filled with violent delinquents and criminals that would try to jump her on spot, but surely it wasn't already happening, was it?

_ Crash! _

Orihime sucked in a breath and braced herself, feeling her palms get damp. The wards were just north of her office, separated by a glass door. If she looked carefully, she could see the ruckus had been caused by her newest -- and first -- patient, who was trying to stand up.

That had her shifting to panic mode. The nurses weren't even in yet! What was he doing?

She clutched the file in one hand, used her other to grab a stethoscope. Then, she ran towards the wards. Towards Kurosaki Ichigo.

Upon coming to the ward doors, she swung it open and quickly closed it behind her. All prison protocol dictated that doors opened always had to be closed as soon as possible, and she didn't want to make such a mistake on her first day working. Once the door came to a close, she regarded her patient.

Her first impression of him was, again, his scowl. His shock of orange hair covered his eyes as he looked down at his feet. Orihime tried to see what he was looking at. The crash had come from a cup of water that had been knocked over in Ichigo's attempt to get up from the bed. What was holding him down were the handcuffs slapped on one of his wrists. And, probably, the fact that he was in a lot of pain.

The beds beside him were mostly vacant, spare one of two rolling around in a disturbed slumber. One of them, Kyoraku Shunsui, she had seen to last night. Some kind of infection. The other, she was told, had been in a coma for months now -- nothing she could do. The nurse was completely in charge of that one.

"Ah, Kurosaki-san, good afternoon," she said sweetly, edging closer to the bed. Part of her was a little afraid to do so without a nurse in the room, considering she hadn't exactly gotten to the 'offenses' part of his file yet. But the other part of her, the one that trudged through medical school, was eager to help her patient.

He grunted. Then, he sank back into his bed and pretended he'd never tried to get up.

She stifled a giggle. "I hope you weren't trying to escape before I could get to you."

Then, her brain caught up on where they were and her joke suddenly felt ill-timed. If anything, his glare told her he didn't find it very funny either.

Okay. Difficult patient. She could handle that.

She toed away the shards of glass with her shoe, inching closer so she could take a look at his vitals.

"So," she soldiered on. "How are we doing this morning?"

"Great," he replied curtly, crossing his arms with a wince. "Any idea when I'm due to be discharged?"

Orihime paused. Discharged? "Er...Kurosaki-san," she said. "You have a broken rib."

He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows, as if to say _ 'so?' _

Orihime felt a ball of anxiety coil up in her belly. She didn't exactly know how Dr. Iemura ran things around here before, but it was clear Ichigo was expecting the same treatment. She cleared her throat and continued examining him, giving him a cursory smile while she was at it. When she got down to his midsection, she pointed at his dull, gray uniform, hoping he would get the cue and open it.

He did, but not without an annoyed huff. His free hand came down to unbutton it, but his fingers were trembling -- of course, she mentally slapped her forehead. He had been out for hours and probably dehydrated. What kind of doctor was she, letting him do all the work? It was obvious he was thirsty, even though he didn't seem like the type to mention it.

"Kurosaki-san, I've got it," she interrupted gently, before reaching for another glass and a tumbler of water to fill it. "You should drink this while I take care of your shirt."

"I can do it myself," he snapped, and she flinched at the sudden break in silence, edging backwards despite herself. Her heart had kicked up with adrenaline -- a shaky fight-or-flight that had taken root at his sudden movement.

"I - okay," she exhaled, hearing the tremble in her own voice as she wiped a bead of sweat down on her white coat. "I'm sorry. You can do it, if you want to." She stood up and looked away as he unbuttoned his shirt.

There were a few moments of awkward silence, the only sounds being the rustling of Ichigo’s uniform shirt and Kyoraku’s snoring. Then, Ichigo cleared his throat to indicate he was done. He reached for the water she filled out for him and mumbled his thanks. 

Hands still trembling, she sat down on the chair beside him and pulled herself closer to examine his rib. There were still angry, reddish splotches of bruises across his chest. She tenderly checked for swelling with a gloved hand, skirting her fingers across his skin. The muscles twitched upon contact, his body tense and alert. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he mumbled quietly, the hand that was clutching the bedsheet tightening. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me but, uh...I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

She looked up at him, surprised. There was an embarrassed flush in his cheeks, but his sharp gaze had softened when he looked at her. Kindly. Almost apologetically. 

She smiled. “I believe you.” 

He scoffed dubiously, but didn’t say anything else. 

He was a lot more open after that, loosening up almost deliberately so she could examine him better. Orihime was almost done with him, when the door swung open and shut again. 

“Morning Dr. Inoue,” Hanataro replied. “I’m the resident nurse here,  _ so  _ sorry I’m late! I didn’t mean for you to start without me.” He extended a hand, and Orihime reached for it from where she was sitting, smiling back at him. He jerked his head towards the bed. “I see you’ve met Kurosaki-san. He’s a regular here.” 

“Hey, Hanataro,” Ichigo grumbled. 

“I have,” Orihime replied, cheerfully. “We were just doing a general once-over before you showed up, right Kurosaki-san?” When she turned to Ichigo, he still looked a little guilty for snapping at her earlier, but he nodded. 

  
  


“Have you been good to Dr. Inoue?” Hanataro asked, not facing them as he bustled around the store closet. “It’s rare for us to get any new applicants, y’know. Try not to chase the nice doctor away, ne?” 

  
  


Orihime flushed, busying herself with her hands. Ichigo regarded her with a curious gaze. There was no doubt that Dr. Inoue was going to be an oddity around here -- what, with her neat hair pinned to the back of her head in a low bun, her soft smile. Even the light from the nearby window bounced off her softly, like it was afraid to hurt a hair on her head. She wasn’t the kind of doctor suited to a desolate, dangerous place like this. Ichigo had never particularly feared what went on within these walls, but looking at her, he felt a strange sort of fear  _ for her _ \-- for what she might encounter with the men at this penitentiary. If she was as timid as she looked, he didn’t suspect she would last long here. He shook away the pang in his chest at that, blamed it on his exhaustion. 

  
  


Besides, they never had lady doctors here; more so, lady doctors that looked like  _ her _ . So he didn’t have to chase her away -- this place would do it just fine. 

  
  


“So, are we administering the anesthetic injection?” Hanatoro was asking, coming up to her with a syringe and a tiny bottle of viscous liquid. 

“This soon?” Orihime asked, worrying her lip. “Kurosaki-san needs plenty of rest with the kind of blow he took, Hanataro-san.”

“Generally, the warden doesn’t like keeping patients in here for too long,” Hanataro replied, with a sigh. “Trust me, it irks me too, but that’s the protocol. We’d be best, keeping him here for another day or so on steady doses of the injection.”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Ichigo insisted, at her worried look. “Just give me the damn injection and I’ll be out of your hair, Dr. Inoue.” He shrugged at her with one shoulder, as if to say  _ ‘not my first rodeo, definitely not my last.’ _

  
  


“Okay,” she said, standing up to take the syringe with a sweet smile. “Pull your pants down for me, then, please, Kurosaki-san.” 

  
  


Ichigo flushed. 

  
  
  
  


________

  
  
  
  
  


By nightfall, the injection had kicked in full strength, effectively numbing him down. Knowing how these things worked, he’d be discharged by tomorrow morning with a buttload of painkillers in his arsenal. The silence surrounding the outer walls contrasted with the light movement within. From afar, he could hear the rumble of inmates walking in and around the place, probably just let out for dinner. 

Dr. Inoue had spent most of the morning learning the in-and-outs of the ward, with Hanataro’s help. Regardless of her physical demeanor, Ichigo observed that she had great bedside manners for a prison doctor. She took Kyoraku’s teasing in stride as she examined his butt boils, didn’t seem to mind Ichigo’s one-word answers, and chatted amiably with the other day doctors. Despite having been here only a day, she was already making her mark here as a friendly and kind doctor, if not a little naive to the callous ways of a penitentiary. 

So when Abarai Renji barged in at the end of his shift to dine with her, Ichigo wasn’t surprised. He himself was an amicable guy, befriending every guard, prisoner and dust bunny on the premises, so it made sense that he wanted to make fast friends with the new doctor. 

“I hope you like a shitload of furikake with your rice, Dr. Inoue, because that’s what they’re serving at the staff canteen tonight,” he said, setting down two food bags on the table. 

“Oh, thank you, Abarai-san,” she cheered, setting down the files she was perusing. “I’m a fan of red bean paste myself, but I was told prison didn’t have any red bean paste.” 

Ichigo felt his lips quirk slightly at her pout, but his face fell just as quickly when Renji turned to look at him. 

“Oh, Kurosaki’s up,” Renji said, with a smirk. “You get a chance to see his world famous scowl yet, Dr. Inoue?” 

“He’s not so bad, Abarai-san,” she dismissed, with a wave of her hand. “Where I used to work for my residency, I kinda got used to difficult patients, anyway.” Then, she froze in horror at her words, regarding Ichigo with a shocked look. “N-not that Kurosaki-san was difficult! He was perfectly nice! If anything,  _ I _ was being pushy when I asked him to take off his shirt --” 

Ichigo’s cheeks darkened at Renji’s amused eyebrow-raise. Asshole. 

“Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that,” she cried. “I’m sorry, I’m a dodo sometimes.” She turned helplessly to Ichigo, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad at her. To her surprise, he just gave her an amused half-smile before going back to staring out of the window. 

“So,” Renji started. “You got someone, doc?” 

“Got someone?” Orihime repeated, through chews of rice. 

“You know, married,” Renji said, with a shrug. “Or a partner, even.” He leaned back in his chair. “Not a lot of guys I know who  _ wouldn’t  _ be shitting themselves with their wives working so late in a place like this.” 

Ichigo suddenly found himself staring at his kneecaps with too much interest. 

“Oh,” she said, her mouth forming a small ‘O.’ “Not really, Abarai-san. I used to live with my brother, up until a few years ago. I don’t really get a lot of time to, um, date.” She blushed. “What about you?” 

“Been married ten years.” Renji grinned, and Ichigo rolled his eyes. It almost seemed as if the sun wouldn’t rise if he didn’t make it a point to mention his wife within seconds of meeting literally anyone that spent more than twelve seconds with him. He got a lot of shit for it, from the guys back at the cells, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Hey,” he said, like he only just remembered. “Wanna see a picture of my kid?” 

“Oh, I’d love to!” Orihime squealed, holding her hand out for the wallet that Renji was already drawing out. “How old is she? Six?” 

“Turned five this summer,” Renji replied proudly. “She’s a big girl for her age.” 

“Very healthy,” Orihime agreed, seeming pleasantly satisfied. 

Ichigo scoffed. Sometime around nine, Hanataro brought his own dinner -- some kind of mushy-looking potato thing that didn’t taste half-bad, just a little chalky. That was probably the only thing that was good about being sent to the ward. The smell of brine here was so heavy, however, that it overpowered any hunger or relish one would have for food. Ichigo almost pitied the doctor, wondering how she’d spend the rest of her days here without getting sick. He regarded her from the corner of his eye; boisterous as she was, there was something graceful about her demeanor. She devoured her food and made small-talk with such enthusiasm that you would think he’d landed up in a diner somewhere, not the infirmary of a penitentiary. A spirit like that -- Ichigo closed his eyes. It dulled easily. This place had a way of sandpapering around the edges, turning hope and determination into some kind of fantasy that only found place in books and dreams -- not within these walls. He sighed. It didn’t matter anyway. By morning, he’d be out of here and if she knew any better, she would be too. Kindness was the last thing brutes in this place deserved, himself included. 

While Inoue and Abarai continued their casual conversation, he tried to catch some sleep with little success. By tomorrow morning, he’d be back in his cells again. There was a good chance his attackers had either been sent to solitary or thrown in the Maggot’s Nest, but the prickle of annoyance went up his spine anyway. He could only hope his cellmates weren’t in too much trouble over the ruckus. 

“Well, I’m out of here,” Renji said, standing up. “Gonna call it a night. I’ll finish your tour tomorrow, take you round the blocks we left off today. The DC is gonna come down this weekend for inspection, so make sure you have Hanataro teach you how we do record-keeping around here. The last thing you want is to lag behind on paperwork as a newbie.” 

“Is he a good man?” Orihime hadn’t heard a lot about the district commissioner, but she had done a lot of research about this penitentiary and it seemed generally well on the upkeep.

“He does his job, if that’s what you’re asking.” Renji shrugged on his coat and picked up his stick-weapon. “Make sure you lock this door behind you when you’re leaving.” He glanced at Ichigo, who was pretending not to watch them. “You better behave yourself, Kurosaki, or I’ll have my new buddy here tase you for misdemeanor.” 

Ichigo rolled his eyes and flipped him off. Orihime giggled, ushering Renji out of the infirmary. 

Sometime after Abarai left, Orihime returned to clean up her makeshift work-desk in the wards. Ichigo didn’t know a lot about the prison’s private quarters, but he’d heard it was on the fringe of the building itself -- right past the thick stone bridge that moored the penitentiary. That’s where he supposed she’d be headed tonight. If someone decided to shank someone else in the eye, they’d ring the alarm -- the bell would be loud enough to carry across the water -- and she’d be back within minutes. No sleep, no rest. That was the life of a prison doctor here. Iemura himself didn’t seem to have minded; Ichigo wondered if she would. In this selfish way, he wanted this place to break her -- send her far enough to a place where the most dangerous case would be an old man with arthritis, not an ex-con with a shanked eye or a ruptured spleen. 

She went to check on Shunsui, changing the curtains around his bed as she chatted happily with him about dinner. His bed was a good few feet away from Ichigo’s but Ichigo could still lightly hear their conversation. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this, Dr. Inoue?” Shunsui asked teasingly, watching her as she worked. She had shrugged off her coat, now in just her blue-green scrubs. “I mean, charming as I am and all, I’d rather see you someplace...well, cleaner.” 

Orihime laughed, a pretty sound that rang like a windchime across the room. “There’s a lot of good work to be done here, Kyoraku-san,” she explained. “I mean, my entire research paper had been on humanizing correctional medicine -- it would be a little hypocritical of me to not stand by what I said.” 

“Beauty  _ and  _ brains,” Shunsui commented with a whistle, before jerking his head to the side. “You hear that, Ukitake? We really lucked out with this one.” 

Orihime glanced at the lithe body a few beds over, sympathetically. “You must miss him.”

“Eh, I stop by every now and then,” Shunsui said wistfully, before turning teasing again. “ So you’ll be seeing a lot of me, Dr. Inoue, don’t worry about it.” 

She giggled, stepping away from him and back to Ichigo. 

Ichigo kept his head down, not wanting to say anything. As she quietly examined him, however, he couldn’t help but say, 

  
  


“You’re not gonna change anything around here, you know.” 

  
  


He had said it so softly, he wondered if Orihime had even heard it. 

  
  


“I know,” she said quietly, to his surprise. When he looked up, she was smiling at him. “That doesn't change the fact that I want to help.” 

Ichigo kept quiet, staring at his hands while she redid his bandages. Her fingertips were tentative, brushing his shoulders with a tenderness that was out-of-place in the dark ward. He thought their conversation had ended there, but she leaned over slightly, her stormy eyes staring at him in concern. 

“Can you please tell me who did this to you?” she whispered. “As your doctor, it’s my job to make sure your safety is not compromised. The men out there - if they’re dangerous, then we should do something about it.” 

“This is prison, Dr. Inoue.” He laughed without humor. “We’re all fucking dangerous.” Besides, he wasn’t a snitch. There were rules here, confines that he had learned all too well how to operate within. He didn’t need her to handhold him through a couple of bruises and scratches. 

There were predators and prey within these walls, a natural survival of the fittest that she would have to learn if she didn’t want to see the bottom of the ladder. There was a hierarchy to these things, a method to follow. One that Ichigo could work on alone,  _ without  _ her help. He flashed his eyes at her, not mean, but challenging. 

  
  


Orihime tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, soft, as soft as the words she spoke when she said, 

  
  


“That doesn’t make you any less human, Kurosaki-san.” 

  
  
  



	2. The Innocent, The Guilty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to polynya for spotting the ‘inmate #’ detail in the last chap! Onto the next!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** All I know about prison, I know from Prison Break and Escape from Alcatraz documentaries, so if this reads like daytime television, let’s pretend it was intentional.

By most inmate standards, Ichigo was a fairly new addition to the penitentiary. He’d been brought in four years ago, two of which he spent mostly by himself, staring out of windows and grieving a life long-gone-by. It was the most paradoxical state of mind he’d been in – half-torn apart by loss and half weighed-in by guilt.

He knew he wasn’t _allowed_ to grieve, that this was punishment – but it didn’t make the pain or loneliness any less evident than it was. On nights spent staring up at the cracking gray walls, he could almost _feel_ his guilt – a real, live person lying on top of him – suffocating him.

Last night, however, he’d mainly been knocked out by the drugs. Prison sedatives were powerful and he had been _tired_.

He glanced over the glass barricade. Not as tired as some people, however. Over in Dr. Inoue’s office, he saw her slumped over her desk, fast asleep. Her hair was still in a loose bun, but a few stray strands had made their way into her mouth. The puffs of breath that escaped her mouth came through slightly parted, candy-pink lips. Even in slumber, she was serenely colorful. Bright, like some kind of natural light source.

He didn’t think she’d even gone back to her quarters last night. Last he was awake, she was still reading by her desk light and checking in every now and then to monitor his body’s reaction to the injection doses. In the ward, the doctors were usually banned from telling their patients what drugs they were on -- just in case a guy decided to get an idea, hook himself up with a man on the outside. Whatever she'd given him though, it had been strong enough for her to be vigilant of his status for most of the night. 

In the morning, she hadn’t changed positions from her seat, except to fall asleep then and there. Part of it was his fault, considering he had to be rushed in the _second_ she set foot on premises. He bet she hadn’t gotten a minute’s rest since then.

He sighed and rolled over, wincing at the pain in his lower back. _This is punishment,_ he reminded himself. _I am guilty._ No matter what Inoue had said last night, it didn’t change a damn thing. He wasn’t human, nor was he allowed to be. He’d been stripped of it the night things changed, the rainy night from five years ago. She didn’t know about it, wouldn’t want to. This whole experience was just some blemish on her record that she’d laugh off a few years later. Talk of the savage and heartless men she’d met within the heart of Seireitei, how they far from human they really were. How glad she was to get away from a place like this, a place so devoid of hope. Of redemption.

He fell back into troubled sleep, seeing half-dreams and muffled memories. The next time he woke up, Inoue and Hanataro were standing over his bed. He blinked blearily.

“Vitals are stable,” Hanataro reported, checking the little bag of IV fluid, the tubes twining through his handcuffs. Ichigo lifted his free hand to his hair and groaned unwittingly. She had tried to coax the overnight guard into undoing them, but the guy was kind of a bastard -- Ichigo was sure he'd hit him in a riot once -- so he refused. 

“Oh! And it looks like he’s awake already. Aren’t we lucky, Dr. Inoue?” Hanataro cheered. 

“Hmm,” Inoue said pleasantly, dragging two fingers under his eye sockets to check the fleshy pink nerves below his sclera. “Looking good, Kurosaki-san! What’s the pain level this morning?”

“Zero,” he mumbled grumpily, huffing out a breath.

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s not a morning person,” Hanatoro said cheerfully. “Say ah, Kurosaki-san –“

He shoved a bitter-tasting liquid into Ichigo’s mouth without waiting for a response. It took everything within Ichigo’s body for him to not spit it out. The medicine was _caustic,_ a terrible weight on his already hurting tooth. 

“ _Perfect_ ,” Hanataro singsonged. “Well, I’ll be by Ukitake-san if you need me, Doctor-san.” He nodded at Ichigo and Orihime, then trundled off to the far end of the ward.

“Brat,” Ichigo murmured, dragging himself to sit up. Inoue was watching him, making some kind of markings on a clipboard. Then, she set it aside on the bedside table to come and sit with him.

“They’re discharging you at eleven this morning,” she said, carefully. “You’ll be back at your cell – to where you were before the attack happened.” He half-expected her to pressure him for answers again, but she just smiled at him instead. Then, she stood up and walked to the store closet, returning with a heavy padding cushion of sorts. “I figured if they’re not going to let you rest here for longer, you might as well wear this.”

“What’s that?” Ichigo asked, already leaning forward so she could start draping it around his bare shoulders.

“Chest pad,” she explained, her warm fingers gently gliding on his skin as she adjusted the straps. He shivered. “You can wear this under your shirt for a while, until your rib decides to stop being wonky. It’ll hurt less.”

“Iemura used to tell me I’d just have to get hit again if I wanted my bones to set,” he muttered, surprised to hear her soft laughter over his ear as she retreated. When she was back to standing in front of him, arms crossed, he suddenly felt very guilty again. “Listen, Inoue…” He glanced at her to see her response to the lack of honorific. She said nothing. He sighed. “I’m sorry about last night…”

She shook her head. “I should be saying that to you, Kurosaki-san,” she said. “It didn’t occur to me that I’d be putting you in further danger by asking you to reveal your attackers. I might be new here, but I promise I’ll figure out the dynamics soon enough and come out on top!” To his surprise, she hopped back and brandished her bicep – an oddly child-like look on a woman her age.

He fought back a smile. “God, you’re gonna get yourself mauled here,” he said, suddenly feeling exhausted and anxious. He wondered if he could repay her for her kindness by asking her to run away as far as those tiny feet could scamper. It was the least he could do for her, considering how she’d put up with his bad attitude and even treated him as a friend, of sorts.

She frowned. “That’s not very nice, Kurosaki-san,” she said. “I passed the physical, you know? I’m a black-belt in karate. My best friend, Tatsuki – she’s from Karakura, too – she taught me. She said, _‘Orihime, if you’re going to be a dumbass and ship yourself off to prison, you should at least know how to knee a guy in the…’_ well, you know.”

He struggled to curb a lopsided grin at her – an odd look on his grim mouth. It was kind of handsome, in a very _Ichigo_ way. “I know.”

She grinned wide and bright at the look on his face. He _smiled_ at her! Home-run! It was always satisfying to have a patient warm up to you, but with one that was so… _him,_ it was different.

The door rattled open behind her, making both of them jump at the noise. Renji was there, discharge slip in one hand, stick-weapon in the other. “Mornin’,” he greeted, eyes darting between Ichigo and Orihime. “Are we ready for discharge?”

“Yes!’ Orihime exclaimed, turning around to help Ichigo put his uniform back on. To her surprise, he’d already shrugged on his clothes and taken off the catheter on the back of his hand. He cocked his eyebrow as if to say, _‘not my first rodeo, remember?’_

"Right," she clapped her hands together. "You'll need to check in with me at least once a week, for the next two weeks. Until then, I had Hanataro pick up your antibiotics from the pharmac." She pointed to a low table, where his meds were. 

He stood up, slightly wobbling. Orihime reached forward to help him, but he held his hand out to stop her. “Thanks, Inoue,” he said; then, as he walked past her, he murmured softly for only her to hear. “Be careful.”

As he grabbed his meds and began hobbling to the door, Orihime felt like she should say something, _anything_ back. “See you!” she blurted, then realized that him seeing her was actually a bad sign, since it meant more bodily harm on his end. She grinned sheepishly, as he raised two fingers to wave goodbye at her.

She idly wondered if it was wrong to want to see him again, then brushed the thought out of her mind and began getting ready for the day.

**x.x**

“Hey-hey, look who’s back!” Ikkaku yelled, thumping Ichigo’s back as he dragged his feet over to his cell. “Thought they’d put ya in the boneyard after that one.”

“He’s been left in the dirt for worse, Ikkaku,” Yumichikka said, airily, knowing full well that the authorities seldom handed out protective custody to anyone and everyone – not that Ichigo would ever take it, if he was offered. There was an unspoken rule of men around here and Ichigo seemed to have understood it implicitly.

“Fuck off,” Ichigo growled, without heat. He fell into his bunk bed with a soft ‘thump,’ ignoring both Chad and Ishida’s concerned glances and the sharp pain in his chest at the contact. “It was a cheapshot; Grimmjow and his gang know better than to take me on a good day, so they picked a bad one." 

He couldn’t see his friends, but he suspected they were all exchanging glances with each other behind his back. He sighed. “Don’t you guys have better places to be?” Ikkaku and Yumichika were not his cellmates, but they dropped by whenever they sniffed stories of a good fight.

His altercation two nights ago had been anything but. Grimmjow and his cellies had cornered him around a dark bend, tackling him against the wall. Two men had held him down, another solely in-charge of holding his legs.

He was lucky Renji had found him before he could sustain any blunt force trauma, luckier so that _that night_ was the night Iemura’s replacement had chosen to walk through these darned walls. Had she been a day later, Ichigo was sure he would have gone straight into a coma – or even eventual death.

Not that was opposed to it, in theory. He had not much to live for, sparing this ragtag group of people he loosely called friends. While he knew he could hold his own, it was safer in groups. It was safer for Chad and Ishida with him around. Though neither of them had said it, Ichigo hadn’t missed the relief in either of their eyes when he walked through the cell doors.

He heard Ikkaku slinking around somewhere, his feet heavy on the cell floor. “Sure, I know better places to be,” he drawled. “Hawaii, Honolulu…”

“Mount Fuji…” Yumichikka added, teasingly.

Ichigo turned around to glare at them. “You know what I meant, wisecracks.”

“Is that a chest pad, Kurosaki?” Ishida asked, suddenly setting his book down to peer through the collar of Ichigo’s shirt.

“So what if it is?” Ichigo asked, feeling suddenly defensive. Leave it to Ishida to ignore everyone most of the time, only to spring back to life with questions that sounded more like jeers, or even challenges.

“What’s that, like a bra?” Ikkaku asked, poking his pinky through his ear. No one laughed at his joke.

“It’s a cushioning meant to ease up trauma on the chest, especially around the thoracic cage,” Ishida explained sagely, pushing his glasses back in disapproval as Ichigo straightened his shirt. “Either the budgeting for healthcare just went up, or Dr. Iemura’s been replaced by someone competent.”

“Oh, _yeah_ ,” Ikkaku said suddenly, crowding in on Ichigo with a curiously menacing glint in his eye. “Maki from Block C said they’ve got a _lady doctor_ now. That true, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo didn’t say anything, choosing to climb up to sit next to Chad on his bunk instead. Chad wordlessly ruffled Ichigo’s hair, while the others gave up on waiting for his response.

“Oh dear,” Yumichikka fanned himself. “Unless she’s a Hikifune, she’s going to have a hard time tempering _these_ hooligans.” He playfully clocked Ikkaku in the head, for emphasis. Ikkaku clocked him back.

“Hikifune is certainly…different,” Ishida said with a frown, thinking back to the boisterous chef a few floors below. He glanced at Ichigo curiously, however. “Was this new doctor any good?”

“Why, you got an itch somewhere?” Ichigo teased, earning him a deep scorn from Ishida.

“ _I_ heard she’s hot,” Ikkaku interjected importantly, scratching his own ass. “Wouldn’t hurt to go down for a visit. Whadya think, Yumi?”

Yumichikka rolled his eyes, knowing full well Ikkaku didn’t swing that way – hot as this new doctor seemed to be -- but he tried to convince himself of it anyway, from time to time. Like being gay or stuck in prison were things you could talk yourself out of. Like they were choices. 

“Ikkaku,” Chad rumbled warningly, however, seeing as Ichigo’s shoulders had just tensed in annoyance.

“ _My_ sources tell me she’s young, unmarried… _from the city,_ ” Yumichikka listed in a stilted hush, as if that was supposed to mean something. Yumichikka usually had all the information, but he waited it out – either for the drama, or the attention. Or both.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ikkaku asked, saving Ichigo the trouble of seeming curious.

“Oh, you know,” Yumichikka said, looking mildly bored. “They say if a girl is running _to_ a city, it means she’s looking for something. If she’s heading _away_ …well, she’s got something to hide, then, hasn’t she?”

Everyone considered his words for a moment.

“Well,” Ichigo stood up, heaving a sigh. “If she’s hiding something, it’s none of our business.” He began shoving Ikkaku and Yumichikka out of the cell doors. “Now are you gonna get out of here before Iba comes in to kick our asses or what?”

“I’ll kick Iba’s ass any day, let him try!” Ikkaku hollered, as Yumichikka guided him out of the cell by his shoulders. “Iba, you hear me?” he called out over the railing as he made his exit. “I’ll kick your ass!”

A couple of inmates groaned around the many cells, clearly tired of Ikkaku’s volume.

Ichigo turned and regarded Ishida and Chad, now that all their uninvited guests were out. “Well,” he shrugged. “Home sweet home, I guess.”

x.x

Having retreated to her new home beyond the prison boundaries, showered, and come back to the office, Orihime felt slightly refreshed. She was used to long hours at med school, but there was something about the way the air stuck to her skin here that made her want to shower constantly. Besides, Shunsui had a rash and they all knew she couldn’t be too safe with those. 

She gazed out of the window, at the neighboring brick wall. Coming in yesterday and directly receiving a case might not have been the best start to her career here, but it was what she was technically here _for_. While her tour had to be cut short -- she’d only managed to see the guard’s barracks, the boiler rooms, and library from afar -- Renji had promised her they would finish up on her lunch break today. The heat outside was strong, so inmates were staying in. No risk of her patients needing her. 

As she waited for Renji to arrive, she decided to finish reading through Ichigo’s file.

For future reference, she told herself, and not because she was curious at all.

_‘April, 1995: Inmate #1503 admitted to the infirmary with concussion after altercation with inmate #1109. #1109 escorted to Tokyo General for minor surgery,’_ she read inwardly, before skimming down.

_‘January, 1995: Inmate #1503 suffered split laceration on left quadriceps after unnamed inmate attacked with makeshift scalpel; #1503 visitation rights revoked,’_ she sighed.

_‘November, 1994: #1503 Appeal rejected, judicial review denied.’_

_‘March, 1994: #1503 Appeal rejected, judicial review denied.’_

_‘October 1993: Inmate #1503 attacked –‘_ Orihime skipped forward.

_‘September 1993: #1503 Claim of Innocence motioned, appeal processed, judicial review denied.’_

“Claim of innocence?” Orihime murmured to herself. She tried to extricate more details, but apart from the existing reviews, there was no further information on what Ichigo had done – and what he claimed to be innocent of.

A ‘whoosh’ of air entering the room snapped her attention to the door. Renji had just come in.

“Hey,” he grinned. “Ready for your tour?”

**x.x**

  
  


“You said you have a wife, Abarai-san,” Orihime said, following him through the narrow passage that led out of the wards and towards a main set of corridors. The farther outside they got, the brighter the archaic building became. Orihime tried her best to keep up with the taller man in front of her, as they chatted idly. “What does she do?”

“You read the papers, doc?” he asked, with a small grin. 

She blinked, a little surprised by the non-sequitur. “Sometimes?”

“My wife does cartoons for the local paper,” he explained proudly. “Kuchiki Rukia. If you ever pick one up on your shift, look out for her name.”

“Wow,” Orihime exclaimed, half because that was a cool job and the other half because they were back to heading into a darker penetralium of the building, even darker than her office -- which was saying something. “It’s not very bright here, is it?” 

“The building isn’t well-insulated and kinda poorly-lit by modern standards,” Renji acquiesced. “The warden lives in a little outgrowth off-premises, so he doesn’t really understand these things very well.” 

“Do you know him well?” Orihime asked curiously, leaning against the wall as Renji jangled his keys around near a latticed entrance. She had met a couple of day doctors and guards, but she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to meet the warden. She wondered what he was like. 

“Well,” Renji held the door open. “I’d like to think I do. He’s my brother-in-law, after all.” At her astonishment, he smirked. “The Kuchiki family is one of the four founding families behind the Seireitei Penitentiary. They funded most of the construction back in ‘55, a little after the crime rate started going up in the city, y’know -- cause the war had just ended,” He turned to see if Orihime was following, so she nodded. “Anyway,” he continued, running one finger over the low ceiling, feeling the thrum of idle noise from the cells up ahead. “They built a base that was practically impenetrable, strength and sophistication beyond any architect’s dream, it was called."

“Right,” Orihime said, curiously looking over the railing to see boilers and heaters down below. “This entire place was designed by Urahara Kisuke, wasn’t it? The genius architect!” She remembered reading about it, before she came here. 

Renji chuckled. “Well, a lot of people say he was a little crazy,” he said, with a shrug. “I mean, most of the plumbing staff really hate the guy’s guts.” 

“How come?”

“Let’s just say most of the infrastructure around here -- well, there are some pipes and tunnels that don’t lead _anywhere_ in particular, a couple of staircases and boiler rooms in the blueprints that we tried and failed to find,” he explained, running a hand through his ponytail. “On the outside, it’s pretty solid. But the inside is a structural nightmare.” He pushed open another door, leading into a crossroads of sorts. 

“I smell food!” Orihime said suddenly, whirling her head to take a whiff of whatever stale spice was floating around. 

“Heh. That’s the elevator to the canteen below,” Renji said, pointing up ahead. “Staff-only, obviously, accessed by keycard. Inmates take a corridor from the west, leading straight to the courtyard.” 

Orihime peered down below. Sure enough, there was an open courtyard -- but it was empty. Of course it was. It wasn’t lunch time yet. She wondered what was on the menu today. 

“Usually a buncha goo,” Renji said, when she asked, leading her down the elevator. She pouted. 

Seeing her expression, he smiled. “You’re not used to being in this kind of place, are you?” he asked. “The men in there are some of the most violent, crime-hardened convicts in history. Bloody murder, rape, espionage -- sorry,” he amended quickly, seeing her eyes widen. “My point is, they’re not exactly the kind of guys you prop up pillows and make meals for. I don’t believe in the rough-and-tough approach some of the guards take, but I wouldn’t want to rub elbows with any of ‘em too deeply either. A hello there, a stern word here -- that’s usually all you need.” 

He led her through the sunny courtyard and towards a patch of grass that led to a neighboring field. Her stomach dropped in fear, despite herself. She took a deep breath. 

“I’m sure they’re not all that bad,” she said, thinking of Ichigo. _Claim of innocence,_ her brain chimed. “Say, Abarai-san, have there ever been guys locked up in here for crimes they didn’t commit?”

Renji frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Usually, a declaration of guilt is in the hands of the court. We only pick up the strays when they’re deemed criminal enough to be sent here, so I don’t know a lot about the guys’ histories,” Renji turned on his heel. “Why? Someone say something to you?”

“Well, not really,” she said, swinging her hands behind her. “I was reading Kurosaki-san’s file while I was putting it away today and I noticed he’d made appeals on his sentence. A...claim of innocence, it said?” 

Renji barked a short laugh. “They all say they’re innocent, Dr. Inoue.” 

She frowned. She supposed she could believe that -- even if she didn’t like assuming the worst in people -- but three times? Would someone really appeal three times if they weren’t innocent? She hadn’t noticed the falter in her step, but Renji had. He paused his walking to regard her curiously. 

“A word of advice, Dr. Inoue?” 

“Yes?” she asked. 

“Kurosaki, he's one of the more decent guys, sure,” he said slowly. “But I’d suggest you don’t get too personally involved with him, doc.” 

Despite having done nothing worth of guilt, her heart quickened pace. “How come, Abarai-san?”

“Because, Dr. Inoue,” he said, putting a gentle hand on Orihime’s shoulder. “He arrived at Seireitei shortly after he killed his own mother.” 

  
  



	3. Urahara's Cross, Cuddles & Other Lies We Tell Ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** All my knowledge of how prisons and infirmaries work are based on fictional references and surface-level, grade school knowledge. Dubious at best, hilariously off-base at worst. Please apply suspension of disbelief wherever necessary, peace.

The rest of the tour had carried on normally enough. Basketball court, workshed, the usual. Renji had saved the cells for the last, chatting with her about the history of the building, the inmates' schedules -- which one of them had 'smelly farts and godawfully ugly ulcers.' 

Orihime didn't interrupt him to say she was a doctor and was quite used to all things 'smelly and godawfully ugly,' mostly because she was still thinking about Ichigo. 

_“He arrived at Seireitei shortly after he killed his own mother.”_

When they returned to the main cell block, Renji stopped her. "I know you're still thinking about Kurosaki, Dr. Inoue."

She swallowed, a thick block jammed in her throat. "I'm not as naive as I look, Abarai-san. I knew when I took on this job that I'd be dealing with all kinds of men." She took a shaky breath. "And I know better than to let my patients' histories outside these walls get the best of me. It would _never_ change my resolve to help them." 

She locked gazes with him, so he'd know she meant it. 

Renji grinned, holding his hands out placatingly. "I get it, doc," he said. "And I know it's hard to believe, when you meet him. He's a quiet kid, keeps to himself unless you got a bone to pick." They resumed walking inside, but Renji continued his explanation nonetheless. "When he first got here, he pretty much had a target on his back. Most of the time it was his hair, but I think the attitude was what got on the older guys' nerves." He turned to Orihime and pointed at the bridge of his nose. "First week in, the Kenpachi broke it."

Orihime withdrew with a gasp. "That's _awful_." 

"Said Kurosaki walked around like he owned the place, should set his record straight before someone broke it," Renji shook his head and grinned. "Kurosaki goes, _'what, you're gonna set it for me?'_ " He brought his fist to his own face and aimed a punch. "Next thing you know, they're both in the ER. I think the Kenpachi got thrown into solitary for a week." He sighed and shrugged. "Well, they're kind of friends now." 

_Note to self,_ Orihime thought, _sometimes prison enemies can turn into prison frenemies!_

Satisfied with this little learning, Orihime skipped up behind Renji. When they reached a turning point, she decided to bring up the nickname. She regarded Renji curiously. “ _‘The Kenpachi?’_ ” 

"You'll meet him soon enough," Renji assured. "Guy's got some busted form of TB. Racks up a lung all night long, won't let his cellmates sleep." 

They rounded back to the infirmary, just as Hanataro was escorting a hobbling, blonde patient inside. He seemed to be wailing about something incomprehensible to Hanataro, who looked both parts amused and flustered. Orihime waved to him, watched for a while as they began to get settled by the beds. 

“Well,” Renji said, following her line of sight. “I guess that’s my cue to let you go, Dr. Inoue.”

“Right!” Orihime cheered, giving him a big smile. Then, it fell into a line with a sudden realization. “Um, Abarai-san. I noticed on the way here that we skipped that big, heavy-duty door. Did it lead somewhere?” 

Renji chortled. “Boy, you’re observant,” he said, before turning grim. “That’s the entry to the Maggot’s Nest, doc; the holding facility within Seireitei that houses 300 of Japan’s most depraved, violent men.” He watched her reaction carefully. “If you’re religious, then that’s pretty much the equivalent of Hell around here.”

Orihime did the math in her head, tilting her head up. Then, she pictured hundreds and hundreds of sweaty inmates, flocking in and out of the cramped area behind that door, all sense of personal space overridden by the bodies of other prisoners. 300 was not a small number after all -- that was the size of the average Don Kanonji live audience! “That doesn’t sound too comfortable,” she said to Renji. 

“That’s the idea,” he replied. “It’s restricted staff access, Dr. Inoue, but I still feel obligated to tell you -- don’t even _think_ about going in there. Even with an escort.” 

“Yes, sir!” she mock-saluted.

“Alright, I’m gonna let you go. I’ll bring Iba around for dinner tonight,” he said, with a grin. “Dr. Isane’s visiting, so you’re gonna have a right laugh at how far he’ll make a fool of himself to talk to her.” 

Orihime giggled, waving goodbye to him. Then, she walked to her office. 

  
  
  


**x.x**

  
  


Back in A-Wing, Chad and Ishida watched from their top bunk as Ichigo struggled to keep the consistent momentum of his push-ups going. His chest was still sore, but he was determinedly staring at the floor as he huffed out the numbers in small, aching breaths. 

“Does he really think he’s fooling us?” Ishida asked from his position behind Chad. He had one arm around Chad’s waist, his head tucked in the broad expanse between Chad’s neck and shoulder so he could see Ichigo better. “This illusion of privacy he thinks he’s giving us by...oh, he almost slipped. You should have seen that, Sado-kun.” 

Chad leaned over a little to watch Ichigo struggle to get back up on shaky elbows. “It’s cute,” he rumbled. “We should finish up here quickly, though.”

Ichigo, for all his general grump and cynicism, always sensed when Ishida and Chad were craving a cuddle or two behind the safety of the clothesline that blocked the vision of what was inside from the outside. And he always pretended he didn’t notice; he’d take the floor, claim a need to “work out,” leaving Chad and Ishida to have free reign on the top bunk. 

And they were grateful for it -- even though Ishida would never tell him. But watching him now, with his chest injury, felt a little selfish to Chad. 

Ishida nuzzled his nose in Chad’s neck. “I am certain,” he said, slowly peppering a series of kisses on his skin, “that Kurosaki’s muscles will be greatly aided by this little exercise of ours. Surely a man of his caliber can take another minute or two.” 

Chad grinned. “Hnn.” Ishida knew if he wanted kisses, he could just ask, but Chad did prefer it this way, where he phrased it in a way that bullshitted no one -- least of all Chad. 

They were interrupted, though, by the loud beating on their cell bars. “Wrap it up, boys! Laundry time is over!”

Ishida quickly peeled himself off Chad, ready to slip back into his own bunk before the clothesline came off. 

“You guys decent?” Ichigo asked quietly, keeping his head down, but already unhooking one end of the line from where it was tied to the bedpost. 

“All good, Ichigo,” Chad whispered back, giving one of his infamous thumbs-up. Before Ishida could leave however, he grabbed his wrist. “Uryu, we should tell him about...” 

Uryu heaved a sigh, climbing off and settling his feet on the lower rungs of the ladder so that it _looked_ like he was down, but his head was still close enough that only Chad could hear him. “I know, Sado-kun. I’m just waiting for the right time.” 

Chad held his gaze for a moment, nodded, then turned over his side to continue napping. 

Ishida regarded Ichigo briefly, then turned to his own bunk without a word. 

  
  


**x.x**

  
  


**“** Say, Hime-chan,” Hirako Shinji said, leaning forward on elbows with an ingratiating smile. “Do ya happen to have a bandaid lying around here?” He made a big show of looking around, before fixing his gaze at her again and shooting her a wink. “‘Cause I think I just scraped my knee falling for ya.” 

Orihime held back an outrageous laugh behind her hand, feeling her cheeks darken in an embarrassed flush. 

“That’s _doctor_ to you, Hirako-san,” Hanataro reprimanded, running a wet rag over Shinji’s forehead. The man had all but barged in here, saying he had a heatstroke -- which was more Hanataro’s jurisdiction than hers, really -- but he’d also claimed he’d recover a lot better if Orihime sat by his side. So here she was, humouring him. 

“My bad, _Doctor_ Hime-chan,” he corrected, with a grin. 

Hanataro shook his head, muttering something that sounded a lot like ‘incorrigible’ under his breath. He retreated to go bring more water from the coolers, leaving Orihime alone with Shinji.

She regarded him with a hesitant smile, deciding on what exactly to say. Out of reflex, she’d almost asked an inmate once or twice what they were here for -- more out of curiosity than anything else -- but the handbook said some would be sensitive about it, so she’d quickly learned to hold her tongue. Other go-to questions, _‘what do you do for a living?’_ , _‘what’s your favorite food? TV shows?’, ‘any pets? A wife?’_ \-- all seemed either redundant or depressing to men who hadn’t seen the outside of this penitentiary for years now. 

But Orihime had never been one to be short of words, all her life. Therefore, she asked,

“So, does Hirako-san have any interesting stories he’d like to share with me while we wait?” 

Apparently that was the right thing to ask -- by Shinji’s book -- because he spent the next hour or so chatting away about anything and everything: his cellmates, his week-long vacation in Peru that had abruptly ended after he had a ‘minor scuffle’ (her brimming optimism desperately tried to believe it was a scuffle of the legal kind), his religious views, his political affiliations. By the time he had cooled down from his ‘heat stroke’ he seemed resolute on visiting her again sometime soon. 

“You see, Doctor Hime-chan,” he stage-whispered, behind one flat hand. “I don’t intend on staying here very long, so I’m gonna milk every chance I get to spend more time with you.” 

Orihime tilted her head in confusion. “Are you nearing the end of your sentence, Hirako-san?”

Hirako snorted, then gave her a grin that could have been described as secretive at best, crooked at worst. “Can ya keep a secret, pretty?” 

Well, with a premise like that, she was already curious. “Sure.” 

He looked around at the other empty beds, gave a cursory glance around the room to spot Hanataro. When he sensed no risk of being heard by anyone else but her, he leaned forward and asked, “You ever heard of the Urahara’s Cross?”

Orihime bit her lip, considering his words. “I’ve heard of Urahara?” she offered. 

“Then you know he’s the mad genius that crafted this place,” he said, pointing one finger around the room, and then the roof. His voice had suddenly grown quiet, discreet. “Rumor has it that when the four founding families approached him with plans to build this place, he had a couple o’ plans of his own.” 

“I’m not sure I follow, Hirako-san,” Orihime said, slowly. 

“Urahara Kisuke crafted this place with the perfect cat-and-dog chase in mind,” Shinji explained, arms crossed seriously. “Throw a bunch of prisoners and guards in a building -- then, throw in a bone; devise a route somewhere within these walls that’ll get a man straight to the outside. _If_ he can find it.” He raised both his hands and dramatically spread them apart. “The Urahara’s Cross.” 

_Why would someone do such a thing?_ Orihime wanted to ask, but Hanataro had returned and Shinji seemed suddenly tight-lipped. He stood up and patted himself down, walking himself towards the ward doors. When he turned, he raised his finger to his lips, then brought it down to wink at her. 

  
  


“So, Doctor Hime-chan,” he called out. “You might be seeing me a lot less than you think. Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

He raised his hand in a wave, then walked out.


	4. The Lawyer, The Healer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: physical descriptions of PTSD, not too graphic.

  
  


The courtyard between the cells and the visitation room was cloudy when Ichigo arrived that morning. He was walking with his head down, behind the lines of other prisoners, when a flash of auburn caught the corner of his eye. 

Only a few paces ahead, Orihime was travelling along the narrow passageway, too. She was still in her scrubs, but judging by the way she was fishing through her purse, Ichigo assumed she was headed somewhere. A couple of inmates wished her a good morning as they moved along. 

She greeted them all cheerfully, each by name. Then, her eyes traversed across the line, eventually locking with his. They widened for a moment, then brightened with her smile. 

“Good morning, Kurosaki-san!” she exclaimed, slowing her step so he could catch up with her. “I’m glad to see you’re still wearing your chest brace.” She pointed to the peek of the fleshy-white strap she could see behind his collar. 

“Yeah, it’s helping,” he said, kneading the back of his neck uncertainly. He jerked his head towards her as they walked. “You headed out?”

“Hmm, just thought I’d take a little walk, make some phone calls, maybe,” she rambled. “I don’t get out a lot, so I figured I’d get some sunshine on my break!” 

Ichigo noticed how she used her hands a lot when she talked, her dainty fingers clean and well-kept, if not a little reddened by her work in the infirmary. There was something different about her this morning, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

Then, he realized her hair was half-up, half-down, unlike how she tied it up in her office. Her ears were out, with tiny studs pierced in. It made her look...different. Pretty. 

_Objectively_ , he reminded himself. 

“So, are we still on for today?” she was asking as they came up on the mouth of the tunnel. 

Ichigo blinked. _Today?_ “Oh,” he said slowly. “My check-up. Right.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Not like I got anywhere else to be.”

She let out a peal of laughter, throwing her head back. When she regarded him, there was a shiny mirth pressed into the arcs of her eyes. “Was that a _joke_ , Kurosaki-san?” she breathed, her hand on the base of her neck in mock-amusement. 

“Maybe,” he said, trying to reign in a grin of his own. He allowed half his mouth to raise anyway – the half that was on her side, obscured to anyone else around them. “Don’t tell anyone though. It’ll ruin my cred.” 

She laughed again, shaking her head. Ichigo wondered if the room had just gotten a little sunnier, then shook the thought out of his head as one of the women in the visitation room got up at the sight of him. She waved, a little too buoyantly for a place like this. A couple of guards and other visitors shot her strange looks. He groaned. 

“Family friend,” he answered, to Orihime’s questioning stare. She didn’t ask, but he felt this need to tell her anyway. Clear doubts, if any. “She, uh, represented me a couple of years ago.” He cleared his throat, suddenly remembering who he was. _Where_ they were. The guard watching them casually, but carefully, from behind them only confirmed as much. 

“That’s nice,” Orihime said kindly, as she prepared herself to head towards the exit. “I shouldn't be holding you up then, Kurosaki-san. Have a nice day!” 

He nodded. “See you.” 

He watched for a second, as she walked away, then headed to the table waiting for him. 

“Hey, Rangiku,” he said, sitting down. “How’ve you been?”

“The usual.” Rangiku waved dismissively, her eyes fixed on Orihime’s retreating figure. When she turned back to him, she appraised him with a teasing gaze. “I see you made a friend,” she said, tapping her well-manicured nails idly on the edge of her briefcase. 

“Sure,” he said easily. He leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Been a while since you drove up here. What’s going on? Are Dad and the girls okay?” 

“Sheesh, Ichigo.” She held her hands out. “Chill out, will you? They’re fine. I wouldn’t be so casual if they weren’t.” 

Ichigo relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Okay.” 

Rangiku regarded him pensively. “How’ve you been?” Her eyes drifted to his chin and then dropped to his collar – the areas of his body that held incriminating scratches and bruises from his attack. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, crossing his arms a little petulantly. He tried changing the topic, brain swiftly carding through things they could discuss that weren’t him or his so-called life in Seireitei. “Have you got a chance to talk to Yuzu? She hasn’t been writing to me lately.” 

Her eyes hardened. “She’s worried, Ichigo.” 

He huffed an annoyed breath. “Then tell her not to be–” 

“ _Her brother_ is serving 25-to-life for a crime she knows he didn’t commit, forgive her for being a little miffed,” Rangiku interrupted, crossing her arms. “Seriously, Ichigo, I’ve always known how stubborn you can get, but this is pushing it. _Why_ won’t you let me help you?” 

“You’ve done enough for us,” Ichigo said, voice low and rough. He didn’t look at her, just stared at the table. “And I’m grateful for that, Rangiku. But I don’t want my family’s money going into this when it should be going to fund Yuzu and Karin’s college education.” 

_Besides, I’m guilty_ , he thought, but didn’t say. He knew it wouldn’t be received well by his father’s long-time friend. 

Rangiku rolled her eyes, tossing a chop of hair impatiently behind her shoulder as she glared at him. “We’ve been over this before! I said I’d do it for free, didn’t I? The most your dad would have to do is be the designated driver for _one weekend_ so I can get my shit rocked.” She grinned. “That’s a doable sacrifice, even for Isshin.” 

He scoffed, but said nothing. 

“You’ve got one last appeal, Ichigo,” Rangiku pleaded, her voice trembling, but firm. “Use it. Let me help you.” She leaned forward, resting both her arms on the table. “Tell me what happened that night.” 

“Hey, how’s that neighbour kid of yours anyway? Toshiro,” he said suddenly, knowing full well Rangiku wouldn’t take bait, but trying to steer the conversation that way anyway. “He still a weirdo? Hitting your law books a gazillion years early like some kind of kiddie-attorney?” 

Rangiku pursed her lips in disappointment, but indulged him anyway. “He’s ambitious, let him be,” she justified, then regarded him solemnly as they stared at each other in silence. “This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook yet, Ichigo. You don’t have to give me an answer now, but I want you to think about this.” 

“I _have_ thought about this,” Ichigo insisted.

“Well, then think some more. God knows you could use some more of that, anyway,” Rangiku muttered under her breath, grinning at his scowl. Then, she brightened completely, her tone becoming airy and light. “Now that we’ve got _business_ out of the way, let's talk basics! Your dad sent over some brand new underwear after your last call.” She began taking out and unwrapping clear bags of underwear loudly. 

“ _Rangiku_ ,” he hissed, looking left and right as his face sped from red to purple in seconds. He quickly snatched the package and let it drop into his own lap, where no one could see it. 

“Wha-at?” she imitated, blowing a raspberry at him. “It’s prison, honey. It’s not like anyone in this room _hasn’t_ seen your hiney before.” She winked at one of the guards in her peripheral.

“You’re an animal,” he muttered bluntly.

_“All right cons, visitation time is over! Wrap it up!”_ one of the guards back at the tunnel yelled. 

Ichigo and Rangiku stood up. Rangiku gave him a tight hug, which he returned by patting her head awkwardly. When they pulled apart from each other, he said, “There is something you can do for me, actually, Rangiku.” 

“What’s that?”

“We’re gonna get the phone booth up and running again next weekend,” he explained, running his hand through his hair. “If Karin’s done being mad at me, can you tell her to receive my call?”

Rangiku sighed. “She’s not mad, she’s upset and she’s scared because she misses you and she doesn’t know when she’ll ever see you again outside of a visitation room.” 

The raw pain in Ichigo’s eyes was obvious enough to anybody. 

_“Come on, Kurosaki, move it!”_

“I’ll let her know,” she assured, waving at him to go. “Call me if you change your mind about the appeal.” 

“I’ll think about it,” he said noncommittally. “Drive safe.” 

  
  
  
  


**x.x**

  
  


Within her short time here, Orihime had figured that her schedule didn’t allow for a lot of socialization, save for the occasional inmate and the prison staff. Hanataro was in the clinic for most of the day, but he usually left two hours before she did. And Renji was only ever free enough to come around for dinner every alternate day. He mentioned something about shifting up his schedules, now that he had a wife and kid, so she couldn’t begrudge him too much for it. 

Lunch, though. Lunch was a lonely affair. While she was free to join the other day doctors at the staff canteen or even Hanataro back at her office, she often felt dull at the prospect of seeing the same locations day-in and day-out. 

Luckily, she’d managed to find reprieve in the prison library. On her first day there, she’d found out that lunch time for medical staff overlapped with the inmates’ reading hours. That had led to some light ogling and strange looks, but she’d quickly found a quiet corner away from peering eyes soon enough. 

_I am never nothing if not resourceful!_ she thought victoriously, as she set down her books on the table in front of her. Guards were stationed at every three shelves, standing with their arms in front of them silently. Apart from the occasional murmurs of inmates – or even a cacophonic sound here and there when they got rowdy – it was a quiet and sunny place. The books were awfully dull, so she often brought her own, but it made for good reading time nonetheless.

“That’s a diverse set,” said a familiar voice from across the table. Orihime lifted her head to see Ichigo, standing with a book clutched under his own arm. She followed his gaze to where it was resting and suddenly felt embarrassed. She could see what he saw, and it was...kind of an eclectic sight. The book in her own hand was some sort of time-travel adventure that had more emphasis on exposition than adventure, but among the two other books, one was an action manga and the other was a shoujo. 

_How juvenile,_ she thought, her cheeks pink.

“What - what are you reading, Kurosaki-san?” she recovered, leaning forward on elbows to try to peer at the title. 

He showed it to her, one hand shoved in his pocket. _De Profundis,_ it read, in faded silver-gold letters across the tattered cover. “Oscar Wilde,” he said simply. 

Orihime beamed. “I’m aware of Oscar Wilde!” she said happily. “My brother was a fan.” 

“I’m more of a Shakespeare guy myself,” he replied, with a shrug. Then, he fixed her with a curious gaze. “ _Was?”_

Her face fell, momentarily, but she strained herself to smile again. “He passed two years ago,” she said. “It was around the end of my residency.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. When she looked up at him, she was surprised to see a similar sorrow reflected in his eyes. 

_His mother?_ She wondered. 

“Come sit down, Kurosaki-san,” she said suddenly, kicking the leg of the rackety chair in front of her. “I’ve got time to kill before I head back and I- I wouldn’t mind the company.” 

“Y-you don’t have to do that on my account.” He cleared his throat and turned to one of the nearby guards. “Besides…”

She turned, too. Then grinned. “Oh,” she said, catching his drift. “Prison staff and inmates are allowed to socialize in recreational areas within five feet of each other!”

He raised his eyebrows. 

“I’ve been reading the workers’ manual,” she said proudly. “Told you I was going to do better, Kurosaki-san!” 

He smiled a small smile, sinking down to the chair. He checked with the guard once, then relaxed when no one came hurtling weapons or yelling obscenities at him. “You’re already doing great, Inoue.” 

She giggled lightly, her chest feeling warm at the compliment. In the time that she spent around him, she noticed that Ichigo never said anything for the sake of saying it, always deliberating his words to be precise, blunt. Yet, there was an honesty there that she appreciated. 

“Thank you, Kurosaki-san,” she said, then she appraised him curiously. “Not that I mind, but you don’t use honorifics much, do you?”

“I guess not,” he said simply. “I don’t mean any disrespect to _you_ , it's just a habit.”

The way he said it sounded like it _was_ disrespect to the others. She laughed again, despite herself. “You’re funny, Kurosaki-san.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a first.” 

“Oh?” She propped up her chin in her hand, intrigued. “What are some of the others?” 

Ichigo took a deep breath and puffed out air through his cheeks, like it was a tedious task. “Well, there’s _‘orange-top asshole’_ – Abarai likes that one. Let’s see, ah… _’stupid piece of shit’_ is Iba’s favorite. Kenpachi called me _‘runner’_ once, but to be fair I _was_ running from him, so maybe we can count that one.” 

“Your frenemy,” Orihime whispered, like it was some kind of inside joke with herself. 

“Yeah, I guess you can call him that,” Ichigo replied, with a lazy shrug. His eyes fell on her book, so he leaned forward – carefully maintaining his five feet distance. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” she said, exchanging her book with his own. She hooked her finger around the place he’d been holding it, flipping the book open. On her opposite side, Ichigo seemed to be reading the back of her own book with a curious frown. Perhaps the most fascinating part of him was that, while he was usually all-frowns, each one had a specific connotation. Like he had some kind of armory of frowns that he fired off depending on the mood. 

She pictured him with a bazooka, shooting off mini-faces of himself with different scowls, and she had to quickly look down at her book to keep from laughing again. If he noticed, he didn‘t mention it. 

That’s when a little post-it caught her attention, innocuously stuck to the side of one of the pages. It seemed to be a quote copied directly from the book, judging from the way a scribbled arrow pointed to the specific line it was taken from. It read:

‘ _Eternal love is to be given to what is eternally unworthy,’_ in simple, long-scrawled handwriting. Her heart lodged in her throat, as she ran her fingers tenderly along the letters.

Did Ichigo really believe that? 

Her eyes felt suddenly very, very misty. 

Like she could somehow _feel_ the years’ worth of loneliness and guilt and repentance by touching the very letters. Like she could picture Ichigo, bent over his bunk bed and religiously copying the words – internalizing them. Her throat began to ache in that familiar way it did whenever she was about to cry. 

“Oi!” he said, snapping her out of it. “I asked you a question.” 

Orihime raised her eyes to meet his, hiding a sniff while she tried to focus on what he was saying. 

_Oh no!_ Her body snapped into attention suddenly, seeing as he was holding up her very self-indulgent shoujo about vampire romance in a desolate castle. 

“Didn’t take you to be the _‘enemies-to-lovers’_ type,” he said, raising an amused eyebrow. 

“Don’t tease me, Kurosaki-san,” she huffed, feeling deeply embarrassed. She’d always said shoujo was a window into someone’s soul after all, and it just felt like he’d practically ripped her open – just for him to see. “It’s just a little something to pass the time.” Her defence sounded weak to her own ears, but she adamantly raised her chin.

“Sure,” he said, like he didn’t believe her. He looked like he was about to open his mouth to speak again, when one of the guards called out for the inmates to line up. Two men emerged from the historical fiction, both their eyes fixed on Ichigo as they arrived for line up. 

Ichigo stood up as they came to him. “Inoue,” he said, gesturing at them. “Ishida, Chad. My cellmates.” 

“Nice to meet you!” she cheered, giving them a friendly smile. 

“The pleasure is ours,” Ishida said, bowing down. 

“Hmm.” Chad said, from behind him, giving her a small smile. Then, he turned to Ichigo. “Time to go.” 

“Right.” Ichigo nodded at him, jerking his head towards the line so they both could carry on without him. They exchanged amused smiles with each other, then left him to join the line-up. Ichigo turned to Orihime, holding his hand out to take his book back. When their fingers brushed, she vehemently ignored the jolt that ran down her spine. “Thanks. See you at check-up?” 

She beamed. “Of course! Will do.” 

**x.x**

“Do you like her?” Chad asked quietly, as he watched Ichigo pace around their cell. It was nearly evening, the usual time for his check-up. The only thing unusual about this was that Chad had never seen him actually waiting to go. He’d usually just be lazing around the room, picking fights with Ishida until a guard came to pick him up. 

He was still barking insults at Ishida, every now and then, but he seemed relaxed. His shoulders were loose, his eyes didn’t seem to be carrying the weight of what he was thinking. Hell, it was recreation time and he didn’t even seem mad about missing the basketball play-offs between B-Wing and C-Wing.

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Ichigo froze mid-walk. “Who?” he asked, even though Chad had a hunch he knew who they were talking about. 

“Dr.Inoue,” Chad replied, watching him carefully. Unfortunately, the jig was up, because once you struck at Ichigo by surprise, he never made the same mistake twice. He was an exceptionally fast learner, in that regard. 

“Don’t be stupid, Chad,” he snapped. “You don’t _like_ people in prison. You either pack a punch at them, or leave ‘em alone until they beg you to pack a punch at them.” 

_Or sit and have full conversations with them in the library,_ Chad thought. “I liked Ishida,” he said, instead. 

Ichigo didn’t reply to that. Didn’t reply at all, really, until the guard came and picked him up an hour and a half later. Chad half-regretted saying anything, because Ichigo was hyper-aware now. Moody. Chad felt guilty about sending Ichigo like that to see the sweet doctor. Like he’d inadvertently messed it up for them in some way. 

When he voiced his concern to Ishida, the latter just snorted, without lifting his head from his book. 

“You don’t court Kurosaki without being readymade with a handful of patience,” he said lazily. Then, he considered his words. “Not that I wish for the poor doctor to court him anyway. I think she deserves far better, strange as she may seem.”

Chad disagreed with that bit, but he did agree that she would need patience. As he watched Ichigo’s figure retreat around the wing’s corridor, he silently pleaded with whatever force that was out there that she had it. 

**x.x**

Later that evening, Orihime was just about setting up shop for Ichigo when Hanataro came up to her, nearly done winding up for the day. 

“Is that for Kurosaki-san’s follow-up?” he asked, peering at the notes over her shoulder. “I can handle it, if you want to call it a night. I know you’re meeting up with Dr. Isane and the guards later. This is the kind of stuff I’m here for, anyway.”

“That’s okay, Hanataro,” she excused. “You’ve had a long day, I can handle this one before I clock out for dinner.” 

“Are you sure?” Hanataro hesitated. “You work too much, Dr. Inoue. You should take breaks, too, you know.”

She smiled, ruffling his hair. “I’ll be fine, Hanataro, don’t worry about me.” 

The ward door rattled open, a guard shoving Ichigo in before heading back out again. Ichigo seemed a little tense, compared to how he was earlier that day, but Orihime gave him his time and space to get adjusted on the bed.

She handed instructions to Hanataro, brought equipment back and forth from the closet, and ticked off her mental checklist. Outside, she could hear the cheers and shouts of inmates playing basketball. The weather was perfect for it, so she took a minute to stand by the window and smell the fresh, outside air. 

When she finished up, Ichigo seemed to have visibly calmed down a little, so she dragged her chair to sit by him. “Hi,” she said, trying for a smile. 

“Yo,” he replied evenly, and even though there was no smile, there was no hostility either. He seemed comfortable, if not a little grumpy. 

“I’m taking my leave, Doctor-san!” Hanataro called out, already halfway out the door before she could say anything. _That_ seemed to catch Ichigo’s attention.

“He seems awfully keen on leaving things up to you,” he observed gruffly.

“And that’s a good thing, because things _are_ up to me in here,” she said lightly, laughing at his frown. “He’s a really hard-worker, Kurosaki-san. I don’t mind giving him breaks.” 

Ichigo nodded, letting her run the cool metal of her stethoscope down his chest. His bruises didn’t seem as fresh as before, but she made a mental note to replace his chest pad. She clicked her pen on and slowly scribbled down some updates, before setting the clipboard aside. 

“So,” Ichigo exhaled lightly, as the metal left his skin. “What do _you_ do on breaks?”

Orihime blinked in surprise, a little taken aback by the fact that _he_ seemed to want to know what _she_ did. “Well…” she started, trailing out the syllables. “As you know, I read.” 

He smirked, clearly still not over her shoujo debacle. She hurriedly carried on,

“I eat a lot. I like experimenting with different kinds of food, even if people say it's a little unconventional – like adding wasabi to things, or eating a whole lot of ice cream until my tongue goes numb.” She tapped her chin. “Let’s see, what else? I liked hanging out with Tatsuki before I came here. She was my best friend in the whole world, kind of like the sister I never had. And she was very strong and tough! Kind of like you, actually! I think you two would get along like a forest on fire.” 

He raised his eyebrow at the simile. “I hope you don’t think of me as a sister,” he said carefully. 

She swatted his arm, laughing in short, pretty gasps. Like bells. Or ocean waves – drawing you in, retracting too soon. “Of course not, silly.” 

“Hmm,” he murmured, resting his head comfortably on his arms. 

“What do _you_ do in your free time?” she asked.

He inhaled heavily. “Well, I stare at the wall. Read. Work-out. Stare at the wall. Might get into a fight and make the nice doctor worry about me sometimes. Stare at the wall. Sleep.” 

She ignored the light compliment veiled in bundles of sarcasm, smiling as she spoke softly, “I meant outside. Before. What were you like?” 

_Happy,_ he thought immediately. He frowned. Time was wonky in prison and he suspected most of the inmates measured it in terms of ‘before incarceration’ and ‘after’. For Ichigo, however, whenever he thought back to the little vignettes of his life, it always measured up to before and after _‘Mom’_. The only metric valid of measurement. He closed his eyes, pained. 

“I hung out with my baby sisters,” he said instead, when he opened them. At her questioning glance, he explained. “Twins. Four years younger than me. One’s married now, the other one working a sports tech job in Nagoya. Heard she comes home to see my sister and my old man on the weekends.” 

It was always easy talking about Yuzu and Karin, even before. Strained as their relationship might be now – with Yuzu frightfully upset and Karin pissed to high Heaven – he would never, ever know where to stop with those two. 

When he looked at Orihime, her eyes were glassy too, like she could relate. He supposed she could, in a way. Her brother was dead, physically; _he_ was dead to his sisters, to all intents and purposes. 

“Do you still see them?” she asked softly, kindly. 

“Saw them on their last birthday, seven months ago,” he replied automatically. “Yuzu would write up until last month, but that kinda stopped. Karin’s mad at me, so I don’t think she’s gonna call me ever.” 

“She’ll come around,” Orihime assured, like she knew for a fact what Karin was like. 

Ichigo raised his eyebrows dubiously. “How do you know?” 

“I had a bull-headed brother, too,” she said teasingly, standing up. “The thing about guys like that is that you never give up on them, no matter how badly they made you want to pull your hair out and scream.” 

He snorted. “You make me sound like some kind of criminal.” 

She giggled, making her way to the store closet to retrieve his new chest pad. As much as she wanted to spend time with him, she suspected the guard wouldn’t be too pleased about having to wait so long. Outside, the inmates were being a little noisier than usual, screaming obscenities at each other. “Wow, they’re being _loud_ today,” she murmured, mainly to herself.

Suddenly, there was a loud _‘bang!’_. It ricocheted off the walls, making her heart accelerate in fright. Then, when she saw smoke coming from the watchtower through the window, she let out a relieved sigh. It was just one of the huge, smoke guns that the guards deployed whenever they noticed fights break out in the courtyard. 

It wasn’t until she heard a _‘thump,’_ – followed by a pained whimper – that she decided something was seriously wrong.

She whirled on her feet to see Ichigo crumpled on the floor, full fetal, as his hands cradled his head. He rocked back and forth desperately, his entire body trembling. Somehow, it had seemed as though the trickshot that the guards had taken outside had triggered something. 

Orihime gingerly set down the chest pad on the medical table and inched two feet forward. From the arch of his body, the pained groans he was letting out through incomprehensible words, she suspected he was having some sort of emotional reaction or a flashback. 

She got down, balanced herself on the balls of her feet. “Kurosaki-san?” she called out. 

_“Nrgh!”_

She took a deep breath. “Kurosaki-san,” she said, gently, knowing he was listening to her. “May I touch you, please?” 

“No, don’t!” he yelled suddenly, jerking violently back until his back hit the leg of the bed painfully. “I could hurt you, Inoue! _Argh!_ ” He curled up within himself again. 

“I-if that’s what you’re bothered about,” she said bravely, her hand hovering over his shoulder. Her heart seemed to be beating a thousand times a minute, but still persisting in its goal to reach his. “then you have no reason to worry, Kurosaki-san. You promised you wouldn’t hurt me, remember?” 

“Yeah,” he rasped, chest heaving as he looked up at her. 

“And I said I believed you,” she confirmed, hand getting closer to his heated skin. “I do. I know you won’t hurt me, _Ichigo_. So please, let me help you.” 

He didn’t say anything, but when her hand came down to touch him, he tensed. Then, he relaxed, letting his rigid muscles loosen up with the contact. “ _I can’t_ ,” he tried, but that was all he got out. 

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, I promise.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and to her luck, he went bonelessly into her embrace. The position was nowhere _near_ comfortable, but when his face jammed into her shoulder and she felt tears, she wordlessly brought her fingers to stroke his hair. “It’s okay. Ichigo, it’s okay.” 

“Is everything okay in there, Dr. Inoue?!” the guard outside hollered. Ichigo flinched, a quick back-and-forth shudder of his spine. Orihime ran one hand along it, smoothing out and massaging the area he’d hit earlier. He whined quietly into her shoulder. 

“We’re okay, guard-san!” she reassured, firmly. Turning back to Ichigo, she tried to peel his head off her shoulder and make her look at him. When her hand touched his cheek, it felt warm. His eyes were bloodshot, hazy. “Listen to me,” she said, gathering all the calmness she could muster. “Focus on this room, okay? Focus on being here with me. Breathe with me, Ichigo.” 

She talked him down, alternating between giving him reassuring words and touches. She felt his muscles begin to sag, his entire body coming down from wherever it had driven itself to without his permission. He breathed heavy, even breaths with her. _In. Out. In. Out._

It could have been minutes or even hours later, when the first dregs of reason started to hit him again. “Shit,” he muttered, drawing back from her embrace. “Shit, Inoue, I’m _so sorry.”_

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she shushed him gently. 

She wasn’t touching him anymore, but he felt the weird in-between of safety and caginess in the ghost of her touch. That liminal feeling was a lot better than reliving his worst nightmare again, so he’d take it. 

“I - I don’t know what to say,” he croaked, feeling an overwhelming amount of relief and guilt in the same breath. 

“We don’t have to talk about it tonight, Kurosaki-san,” she said, in the same, kind tone she’d used earlier. Had Ichigo been half-alert, he’d have noticed that her hands were trembling too. 

For now, he just settled on the gentle feel of her hand stroking his.


	5. Grimmjow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Iba being Iba

“I just thought it was a little concerning, Abarai-san,” Orihime said, half-frowning as Renji and Iba chortled. Only Isane looked amusingly sympathetic. 

It was a little after-hours and the four prison staff had gathered for a late dinner in the canteen. Isane Kotetsu, the local psychiatrist, only dropped by once every two weeks, so it was a great first-time opportunity for Orihime to get to know her. Iba and Renji had mentioned her politeness and expertise in psychiatry, but sitting in her presence was more awe-inspiring than she’d expected it to be. The charm of the room, however, was superseded by dinnertime conversation.

“Hirako’s just shit-talking, Dr. Inoue,” Iba bragged, very blatantly leaning slightly in his chair to rest his elbow on Isane’s armrest. “The criminal mind thrives on attention. It’s a dog-eat-dog world so they want to come out on top, right? Be the centre of attention.” He yawned. “Urahara’s Cross is just a theory. A bunch of hogwash invented by bored inmates lookin’ for something to girdle the gears, y’know.”

“Mental stimulation?” Isane asked innocently, but Renji and Orihime noticed the amused smiles she exchanged with them. They stifled laughs behind their palms as she kept goading Iba to go on about his observation on criminal behavior to an actual, trained psychiatrist. 

“Yeah!” Iba snapped his fingers. “Mental stimulation.” 

Renji shook his head, wiped amused tears from his eyes so he could regard Orihime seriously. “Don’t worry, doc,” he assured. “We’ve checked all the vents and tunnels behind these walls. There was nothing that indicated some sort of mythical bridge or passageway out of here. If there was, I’m sure some smartass would’ve found it by now.” He smiled. “So, so far, it’s just talk. Thanks for bringing it up with us, though, I really appreciate it.”

Iba nodded. “Gotta keep sharp,” he said, turning to Isane importantly. “The job ain’t easy, y’know. Spending hours with rugged criminals, always having to watch your back -- we’re just as locked up as they are, but it’s a man’s honor to do his duty, right?” 

Orihime smiled. “I’m sure Dr. Kotetsu would know, given her years of experience working closely with convicts,” she said, turning to Isane. “When my friends discouraged me from coming here, I always assured them it would be just like the work at medical school, but...I guess it’s a little different. Getting through to prisoners is a little harder than I thought it would be -- I don’t know how you do it.” 

She thought of Ichigo and how she’d managed to talk him down only a few hours ago, but gotten no closer to getting through to him. She frowned dully. 

“Oh, don’t put yourself down, Dr. Inoue,” Isane dismissed, lightly whacking Orihime’s arm. “You know, when I arrived at the courtyard this morning, I saw Kurosaki-san smiling at you. I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen that in my few consultations with him, the first few months after he arrived.” She lightly sipped her beer, then added, “All it takes is a little patience and practice. You’ll get the hang of it.” 

Orihime raised her own bottle to her mouth, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. 

“Besides, you already have, doc,” Renji pooh-poohed. “Most of the cons already love ya. Helps that you’re incapable of being mean, I guess. Lots of guys here haven’t experienced that kind of kindness in years - decades, even.” 

Isane nodded. “The problem with people outside the medical industry is that it’s hard for them to empathize with someone if they’re not a ‘model’ patient -- the pregnant mother, the devoted husband with lung cancer, the fair, cherub-faced baby.” Isane regarded Orihime. “When you work in prison, you really jump past all those barriers. Start to see these men for what they are beyond their taglines and life sentences.” 

The room grew silent as everyone contemplated her words. 

“Eh, when all’s said and done, you still can’t go too easy on ‘em, Dr. Kotetsu…” Iba began, as he went into another round of _‘deviant behavior,’_ and _‘putting your foot down’_ and something about _‘drawing the line.’_

Orihime and Renji visibly gave up, sharing knowing grins with each other while Dr. Isane had somehow gotten herself warped into a fruitless and endless debate with him. 

  
  
  


**x.x**

While they were saying their goodbyes and parting ways, Orihime decided to catch up with Isane. She was shrugging on her coat, checking her pockets, but she smiled when Orihime approached. 

“Dr. Kotetsu?” Orihime said, catching up to her. “I wanted to tell you I really liked what you said earlier. It really helped my approach to the kind of work I’m doing here.”

“Not at all,” Isane said sweetly. “Considering your college research, I’d say you’re already halfway there. Working with inmates more will only give you more structure and understanding.” 

Orihime nodded. Under the light, they both regarded each other a little awkwardly, unsure of what to say, now that a silence had fallen upon them. Orihime bit her lip, wondering if she should bring up what she’d been thinking about all through dinner. It was frankly pestering her now, brimming on the edge of her mind, and she needed an expert opinion.

“Can I ask you a question?” she blurted. 

Isane raised her eyebrows, but said, “Sure.” 

Orihime looked away for a second, crossing her arms. When she turned back to Isane, she was sure the other woman could see the concern in her eyes. “Is it- do you think it's possible for murderers to experience post-traumatic stress over their murders?” She tilted her head, wondering if she framed that well. “Like, would you say a criminal’s guilt over their crimes could posit into post-traumatic stress over time?” 

Isane blew out air through her cheeks, looking like she was considering the question deeply. “Usually, in cases of murder, guilt is very rare. Most of the average killer profile includes someone who is narcissistic, or even emotionally empty to the point of being remorseless,” she explained. “Significant time in prison could contribute to guilt, sure, but I’d say killers suffering from PTSD are quite rare, if not case-specific. In fact, the victim’s _family_ is more likely to suffer from post-traumatic stress, than the murderers themselves. We can’t always talk about human behavior in absolutes, though, so I’d err on the side of caution.” She nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer. Then, she frowned. “Is this for a case?”

“N-not really,” Orihime stammered, not knowing how else to answer that question. “Well, I guess it _kind of_ is.” She regarded Isane for a moment. “When you were consulting with Kurosaki-san, what exactly did your findings suggest about him? If there’s something in there that can help me get through to him, I’d really appreciate you telling me.” She sighed. “I feel like I’m _very_ close to finding the answers, but I just _don’t know_ how to get there.”

Isane smiled. “I know what that feels like -- it’s frustrating, isn’t it?” 

Orihime nodded fervently. 

“Well, Kurosaki was a difficult case,” Isane replied, thoughtfully. “I never visited often enough to establish rapport with him, and he didn’t seem too keen on building a bond either, but I _did_ treat him for insomnia, his first week here. He was having a really hard time sleeping, so I was glad to be of help there. But honestly? Other than that, I never really found anything significant -- except for maybe this underlying self-loathing that I could never _really_ get him to talk about.” 

“Did he...did he ever talk about his mother?” Orihime asked uncertainly. 

Isane laughed, a little dryly. “I’d suggest you broach that topic _very_ carefully, Dr. Inoue,” she said. “Last I brought it up, I completely lost him as a patient.” 

Orihime frowned. “What happened?”

“He withdrew his name from all future sessions with me.”

  
  
  


x.x

On Friday, there was someone at the cell door. 

Usually, Ichigo went out during leisure time. He played basketball with the other guys or just walked around the courtyard aimlessly with Chad until call time. 

That Friday, however, they'd both chosen to stay in with Ishida. The pre-monsoon humidity seemed to be awful weather to play in, and Chad was working on a song, so of course they'd stayed in. Ishida was perched on his bed as usual, Chad and Ichigo chilling on the floor.

He hadn’t seen Orihime since the day of his breakdown in her office. It wasn’t like he had any further check-ups with her, but he’d somehow managed to avoid her whenever he saw her in the library during his reading hours (and her lunch hours). 

It wasn’t even that he was trying to avoid her, it was just that he knew -- as a doctor -- she would want to get to the root of it. To help. What scared him wasn’t that she wouldn’t be able to, it was that she already _had_. Significantly. That was scary. 

So he didn’t go. He was eagerly waiting for call time anyway, to see if Karin would call.

He should have known, however, that people would notice he stayed in. The kind of people that had unfinished business with him. 

"Kurosaki," Zommari, the man, rumbled. He was tall, bald, and dark. Ichigo had seen him with Grimmjow a couple of times. He wasn't present during the night of the attack, but that hardly counted for much. Ichigo knew if he was here, he was here on behalf of the entire posse. "Grimmjow requests an audience with you; second and third allowed." His eyes darted between Chad and Ishida. 

Ichigo sighed. "Don't wanna," he said shortly, waving off Zommari like he was just some kind of fly that could be swatted away. "Play that chord again, Chad, I think you had something there." 

"We understand you're upset," Zommari interrupted, still at the door with a carefully neutral expression on his face. "But Grimmjow wants to make amends." 

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, ready to mouth off _exactly_ where Grimmjow could put his amends, when Ishida cut him. 

"Kurosaki," he said, giving Ichigo a look. "Perhaps it would be wise for us to listen to what the man has to say." 

Ichigo glared at him, but when it seemed obvious that Ishida wasn't willing to compromise, he made a great show of standing up and stretching. "Well," he said, with an elongated sigh. "Let's go, then." 

**x.x**

A little down south, by the bend of a corridor, was Grimmjow. More specifically, Grimmjow and his guys. 

It was no surprise to anyone that he owned the entire B-Wing, all cellmates in that area owing him their willing or unwilling allegiance. It had been that way for a long time, considering Grimmjow had the manpower and inside influence with a few of the guards that made it happen. 

A bunch of men were all clustered around the door to Grimmjow’s cell, but when Ichigo, Chad and Ishida began to approach, he waved them away. 

As the other men began dispersing, Grimmjow leaned against the wall to appraise Ichigo. When the last of the group had ducked into their own corners, his mouth raised into a smirk. 

"Kurosaki Ichigo in the flesh," he jeered, crossing his arms. "Alive and kicking." 

"No thanks to you," Ichigo muttered, levelling his gaze to hold Grimmjow's. 

"Damn right." Grimmjow's eyes hardened, something primal shining behind his steely blue gaze. "Listen. Now that we've all kissed and made up, let's talk business, yeah? Put the whole _'I kicked your ass'_ behind us?" He brought one hand up to rest it on Ichigo's shoulder, but shrank back when he saw Ichigo's eyes pierce him threateningly. He held his hands up. "All right, all right. No touchy, got it." 

"What do you want, Grimmjow?" Ichigo demanded, crossing his arms. Behind him, Chad and Ishida straightened too. 

"Now here's the deal, Kurosaki," Grimmjow started, snapping his fingers. "This entire wing you see behind me? I'm the king of the ring." He gnashed his teeth and leaned into Ichigo's space, voice low. "And _a king_ doesn't like it when you fuck with his kingdom, right?" 

"What's that got to do with me?" Ichigo asked, sounding bored. 

"I'm getting there!" Grimmjow snapped, but none of the men in front of him flinched. He sighed, shaking his head. "See, I know you know very well what's yours and what's mine. I mean, you and I are friends, Kurosaki -- we go _way_ back." This time, he did wrap his arm around Ichigo's shoulder. "But I ain't that lucky this time around, 'cause Abarai and his new lady friend, they got wind of our little tango and now…" He leaned in to whisper in Ichigo's ear. "I'm in deep shit." 

Ichigo stilled, feeling the blood in his ears run hot. "You and I both know the doctor had nothing to do with this," he said, trying to keep his voice casual and indifferent, but feeling the persistent push of his racing heartbeat, anyway. "No one got wind of shit, Grimmjow. You got _caught_. By Abarai." 

"Tch. Maybe so," Grimmjow sighed. "But now they want my ass in the Nest--" Ichigo resisted the urge to laugh. "-- and they're _willing_ to let it slide if _you_ don't press it further. File a complaint, tattle to the blues, get me?" 

"What, a tough guy like you is too chicken to do time in the Nest?" Ichigo scoffed. He knew for a fact that Grimmjow had been there before. 

And Grimmjow most certainly wasn't the type to beg for silence. But when Ichigo looked into his eyes, there was a tiny, momentary glimmer of fear. It disappeared as soon as it arrived. 

Grimmjow clenched his fist, looking physically strained from trying to hit Ichigo. "I'm offering you a deal, Kurosaki," he spat, right at Ichigo's feet. When he looked up, his eyes were blazing desperately. "One P.I job in exchange for your silence, take your pick and shut the fuck up. That's the deal." 

Ichigo's first reaction was to reject it. While prison industry was an appealing offer, he wasn't about to accept an olive branch from Grimmjow. 

Then, his eyes widened. Library was a part of the many prison industry jobs, wasn't it? Dusting the bookshelves in exchange for more reading time didn't sound half-bad, and he was about to open his mouth to say as much, when Ishida harshly pinched his elbow. 

"What the fuck, man?" Ichigo growled, turning to glare at him. 

"Pick clinic hours," he hissed, from the corner of his mouth, urgently. 

"What? No," Ichigo said, frowning. "I'm picking --" 

" _Pick_. _Clinic_. _Hours_ ," Ishida pressed, giving Ichigo a hard stare. Over his shoulder, Ichigo was surprised to see Chad giving him a similarly stern look. 

"Ladies, I don't have all day," Grimmjow said smoothly, staring at his cuticles. 

Ichigo, feeling irritably pressured from all corners, turned around and snapped, "Clinic." 

Grimmjow loosened considerably, the corner of his mouth lifting up -- in what looked like -- poorly concealed relief. "Aw, look at your two little wingmen, trying to set you up," he teased. He punched Ichigo's shoulder, making his way back inside his cell. "I'll let the concerned men do what they gotta do. Pleasure doing business with ya." Then, he turned, as an afterthought. "Oh. And say hi to the nice lady back at the infirmary for me, will ya?" 

He cackled, leaving through a thick mess of curtains without waiting for a response. 

  
  
  


x.x 

  
  


Back at the cell, Ichigo blew up. 

“What the hell was that about?” he demanded, crossing his arms as he regarded Ishida and Chad. “What’s going on with you guys?”

Ishida and Chad glanced at each other, seeming to have telepathic conversations that were communicated with twitching eyebrows and exaggerated expressions. Well, as exaggerated as things got on Chad, anyway. 

“Hellooo?” Ichigo asked, feeling his impatience rise with every twitch. 

“We were under the impression that you would not object to this, considering your, ah, friendship with the doctor,” Ishida said carefully. 

“That has nothing to do with this,” Ichigo growled, as Chad watched them back and forth like a tennis match. “Actually, scratch that. It has everything to do with this. Do you know how creepy it’s going to be if I just show up to the clinic on P.I? It would be like I’m _stalking_ her!” And it was embarrassing how soft he’d gone in her arms but he’d die before he mentioned that to either of them. Returning from the clinic and acting normal that day was hard enough, he couldn’t imagine telling them he’d gone a little haywire after a stupid flashback. 

“Since when do you care what people think?” Ishida retorted.

“Friendship is not creepy, Ichigo,” Chad added wisely, furthering Ichigo’s blood pressure through the roof.

Something was off here. He had only known these two for a few years, but they were behaving strangely. Somehow he knew they weren't doing this just for the sake of him getting out of his cell more and talking to Orihime. Perceptive as they were, Ichigo knew that wasn’t the case from the way they clearly seemed to be in a silent disagreement over something. 

Cooling down a little, he decided to let it drop. If it was important, he figured they’d tell him when they were ready.

Besides, he could always catalogue this as a favor Ishida would owe him one. The two birds -- visiting Orihime often _and_ getting Ishida to do his bidding -- made the metaphorical stone kind of worth it. Even if he wasn’t willing to let himself get excited at one of them. 

He grinned evilly. 

“You’re gonna call this in as a favor someday aren’t you?” Ishida narrowed his eyes at him warily. 

“Better pay your dues when your time comes, my guy,” Ichigo replied smugly.


	6. A-Wing, Barrettes and Chlorine

To see Ichigo back in her clinic was a surprise, to say the least. 

After the last ‘incident,’ she was sure Ichigo would be too embarrassed or humiliated to be around her again -- even if he had no reason to be. So, when she saw him walk in with a P.I badge pinned to his chest, she felt slightly pleased.

“Looks like we just keep running into each other, Kurosaki-san!” she cheered, thanking the guard as she let him in. 

“Small world,” he relented, following her. “So, you have my work cut out for me?”

Orihime smiled and gestured around her office. “See, that’s the thing,” she said. “When the guard told me I was allowed to have an inmate around for P.I, I didn’t really know what to say. Hanataro handles most of the grunt work here while I deal with the cases, so I’m not really sure what I can give you to do, Kurosaki-san.” 

“Really?” he asked, looking a little defeated as he glanced around the room. “You sure you don’t have any store closets for me to clean out? Maybe some shit and vomit to dispose?” 

She shook her head. “But, maybe you can keep me company? Talk to me as I go about my day?” she glanced at him, trying to gauge exactly how well or poorly he’d take it. “How does that sound?”

He snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Inoue, but I’m not much of a talker.” 

Orihime laughed airily. “I can talk enough for the both of us, Kurosaki-san, trust me,” she said, earning an amused look from him. “But if you still want to be of use here, you can always help wipe the floor?” She ran her foot across the tile, dragging a thin layer of grime with it. “I’m opposed to prison industry as a concept, but I keep getting the plumber’s and the janitor’s numbers mixed up and --” 

Ichigo raised his hand up to interrupt her. “You don’t have to justify it to me,” he said. “Work _is_ what I’m here for, anyway.” 

She nodded, beckoning him to follow her so she could show him where they kept the brooms. She ignored the way her heart fell at that statement because what she _wanted_ to hear was a little too idealistic, even for her. After all, between the two of them, only one of them _had_ to be here.

As her face pinched in concentration, he cleared his throat. 

"Karin called, by the way," he said, leaning against the glass to watch her. "I guess you were right." 

"Oh that's amazing!" She clapped happily. "Must have felt good, right? Talking to your sister after a long time?" 

"It did." 

She beamed, ducking under the ledge to grab the broom so he could smile in privacy. He was very hesitant about letting those out, for some reason, which was a shame because he looked just as handsome as he did when he scowled. 

“I never thanked you for what you did for me the other day, either,” he said quietly, snapping her out of it. 

Orihime almost dropped the broom in her hand, surprised that he even brought it up. She had expected him to be cagey, considering how he _knew_ she tended to ask questions, try to understand him a little better. She just thought they would pretend it never happened. 

Unless...he _wanted_ her to understand him better. This felt like an invitation, of sorts. 

She considered that, gripping the broom tightly before dragging it out. “You don’t have to thank me for something like that, Kurosaki-san,” she said gently, handing it over to him. 

His hand came on top of hers, brushing the back of her palm tentatively as he took it from her. “Because it’s your job,” he said, like it was a question, watching her response carefully. 

“I...It’s not just that,” Orihime whispered, finding it suddenly hard to breathe when his eyes scorched hers like that. The gentle dance of his skin on hers was turning her brain foggy, muddled.

"Hey, Kurosaki-san, I didn't know you were the one they scheduled for P.I!" Hanataro declared suddenly, entering the room with an unintentional obliviousness to the atmosphere. 

Orihime and Ichigo sprang apart. It was like something had broken in the air. 

Orihime quickly snapped into motion after that, muttering something about inmate Rikichi's loose motion as she scampered away. Hanataro came around to instruct Ichigo on how to wipe the floors correctly soon after. It was like that for a while, the three of them quite apart within the office, but when Hanataro retreated to bring some medication from the pharmacy, Orihime found herself drawing closer to Ichigo again. There were plenty of questions she wanted to ask, but Isane had told her to be careful, so she decided to play it safe. 

Besides, her knees were still like jelly from their previous encounter, so it wasn’t like she could ask anything anyway -- even if she wanted to.

“That pin,” Ichigo said suddenly, catching the twinkle of blue on her coat in the reflection of the dirty mirror. There was one in her hair -- holding up her bun -- and one pinned to her coat pocket. The one on her clothes was obviously broken, held together by some sort of stitch that weaved through the seams of her pocket. He wondered if it was important, the way it was so desperately held together. He pointed. “You never take it off.” 

Orihime looked down at it, touched it self-consciously. “Oh, this,” she said. “It was a part of a set of two. I can’t bear to part with it yet, it just doesn’t seem right to toss it in the trash." She held it up. "It cracked when I ran into a door.” She giggled, bumping her own head as if to say ‘ _silly me!’_ before turning serious again. ”I tried fixing it myself, tried to have several experts take a look at it, but this is the most I could do to salvage it.” 

Ichigo raised his eyebrows. “Must be important.” 

“My brother gave them to me,” she replied, softly, walking back to one of the ward beds. 

Ichigo didn’t know what to do with himself, so he dunked his broom in the water and followed her. When she sat down, she had a distant look in her eyes, so he decided to sit beside her. He nudged her shoulder with his. “You okay?” 

She sniffed and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, reaching behind her bun to take off the barrette. Her hair came down in long, wavy strands of auburn hair that fell past her shoulders and down her back. 

Ichigo felt his breath catch at the sight, almost not noticing that she was holding out her hairpin for him to see. He took it gingerly, between his own fingers. 

“We had a big fight over this,” she said, with a small laugh. “He bought it for me with his first salary -- came home with this _excited_ look on his face -- but I was just so mad that he’d spent so much money on something for me after he practically paid for my college education in full.” She shook her head. “I called him so many mean names --” 

“--like what?” Ichigo asked, not being able to picture her swearing at all, much less calling her brother a mean name. 

“Oh, you know,” she said, with a shrug. “Poophead. Meanie. Big jerk.” 

Ichigo chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Anyway, we had a really big argument,” she said glumly. “He said he hadn’t been spending much time with me and that he wanted to make up for it, but I was more worried about him not having enough in his paycheck for himself.” 

“I’m sure he was just trying to make you feel special,” Ichigo offered. It was what she deserved, anyway. Then, something occurred to him. “What about your parents?”

Orihime shrugged. “Sora and I ran away when I was three,” she explained. “They were never in the picture after that. And...after his death, Sora was gone, too. So,” she inhaled deeply, giving him a strained smile. “It’s just me now.”

Ichigo felt a weight drop heavy on his heart, making his chest hurt with something that had nothing to do with his healing rib. “How did he die?” he asked quietly. 

“Car accident,” she answered simply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It fell forward again, right after. She huffed, but gave up, crossing her arms. “He died the morning after our big fight. I-I couldn’t save him. I was too late.” She turned to him, eyes glassy with poorly restrained tears. “I didn’t even say ‘good morning’. I just...let him leave. And then he never came back.” 

Ichigo twined one long strand of her hair around his finger, tugging lightly so she’d look at him. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said softly, to which she scoffed and shook her head. “It’s _not_. Sisters will find forgiveness where you feel too stubborn to ask, you told me that. Well, it's my turn to tell you that brothers will find a way to read your love, even when you don’t say it.” He cupped her cheek, wiping away a lone trail of tears. “If your brother was anything close to a good one, I’m sure he loved you right up to the very end.” 

Her eyes widened, pupils swimming wide in a pool of shiny gray. If he’d lifted his hand from her cheek, she was sure he’d see just how pink it was. “You think so?” 

“Who wouldn’t?”

The implications of his statement suddenly cottoned on to both of them, the room turning a few degrees warmer. Ichigo immediately retracted his hand and stood up, her barrette still clutched in the other hand. Orihime remained seated, fidgeting with her hands.

Outside, the guard rapped on the door, almost on cue. 

_“Time to go, Kurosaki!”_

His brain suddenly flashed with an idea. He held up her pin. “Hey, you mind if I take this with me?” he asked, then pointed to her chest pocket. “Actually, it’s best if you just give me both of them.” 

Orihime tilted her head to regard him, a little doubtfully. A small, confused pout was starting to form on her mouth. 

“I’ll bring it back,” he promised, determinedly looking her in the eye. Granted, it was a little hard to do when she was looking at him like _that,_ but he did. “ _I promise_ I’ll give it back. You just have to trust me.” 

“Okay,” she said, biting her lip as she unclipped the barrette from her pocket. When she looked up at him, she smiled. “I do.” 

“Good,” he said, giving her a nod. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“You too,” she replied absently, watching as the guard came in to escort him out. 

_“Who wouldn’t?”_ her brain chimed, in his voice. 

  
  


x.x

  
  
  


In A-Wing, there was serious work to be done. 

“All clear,” Chad mumbled, standing guard at the open door while Ishida was hunched under the toilet. “Abarai is on the opposite wing, though.” 

He spotted the flash of red ponytail as Renji shook down some of the empty cells. Recreation time was the perfect time to do anything, as there was a lot of distracting noise that allowed an innocuous prisoner or two to do their bidding. Yet, they could never be too safe. 

“Should be finished by the time he comes here then,” Ishida guessed, wrenching his firm fingers around the screw he had popped into the metallic bolt of the seat. He wriggled it once, twice. Then began furiously rotating it clockwise. The box seat began to loosen up, but still snagged on the back. “Sado-kun, I need your help tugging this free. I don’t have the strength to do it.” 

“But the guards --” 

“It’ll only take a minute,” Ishida assured. He stood up, wiped his hands on his pants. “Here, just pull the bowl while I push it from the other end.” 

They exchanged spots as Chad crawled to his knees to regard the toilet bowl. He wrapped his firm arms around the surface and gently tugged its weight towards himself. It didn’t budge. But when Ishida started putting _his_ weight in, he began tugging it again. The metal was starting to come loose from its confines, making a rackety tremble as it began to dislodge. 

"Quiet, quiet," Ishida grumbled gently, as he cocked his head around the corridor. Renji was still on the other side, talking to Ikkaku. Ishida turned back and gave the toilet box one last, hard shove. 

Chad gasped as he saw a peek of the box-shaped hole behind it. It was no small opening, a 4x4 gaping space in the wall of their cell. “We did it,” he said, surprised. 

"Quick, pour the last of the chloride down there," Ishida instructed, reaching around the table for his 'water bottle'. "Keep this here any longer and Kurosaki will gulp it all down in one go for sure." 

Convincing Ichigo not to touch his bottle had been easy so far, considering it just seemed like Ishida was too particular about no one touching his things. Ichigo didn't seem to question that, under certain lighting, the liquid _looked_ different, or that Ishida never seemed to drink from it, but it decreased in increments every time Ichigo stepped out of the room and returned. Hell, there was even that one hot day where Iba almost beat them up for denying him a drink from it.

Ichigo was not too observant, that way, when it came to the matter of the daily and the mundane. 

They could never be too safe, though. 

Chad shuddered. "Is this going to work?" 

Ishida tapped his chin as he watched Chad pour the liquid into the vent. "If my calculations are correct, pitting corrosion should have started on the wall at least a week ago," he explained, crouching. "With this last bit of liquid down the drain, there should be a hole burned completely through the concrete. Or at the very least, the tensile strength of the wall should have decreased. If we can get in there, we'll be able to see the exact damage." 

"Get in there?" Chad asked slowly. 

"I was thinking tomorrow night," Ishida said, looking up at him. "I asked one of the guards about the weather forecast and he said there's a good chance of rain." He jerked his head to the vent. "The noise would be the perfect opportunity to pop in there and come back out before count without anyone noticing."

"What about Ichigo?" Chad asked, crossing his arms solemnly. 

Ishida nodded. "I suppose now would be a good time to tell--" He suddenly raised his hand in the air, cautioning Chad not to talk. "Someone's coming!" he exclaimed, hearing lithe footsteps sneak towards their cell door. 

Chad and Ishida snapped into movement, pushing the toilet back into place. It was cutting it a little too close, because they'd only barely managed to reposition it when a blonde head popped around their cell door. 

"Toilet trouble?" Shinji asked, a lazy grin on his face. 

"Nothing we won't be able to fix without a little gruntwork, Hirako-san," Ishida replied evenly, crossing his arms as he leaned protectively over the toilet. 

"What are you doing here, Shinji?" Chad asked, struggling to keep from wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. 

Shinji waltzed into the room, all loose limbs and careless gait. His eyes were perceptive, however. Watchful, as he scanned the room. "Well you know, it's that time of the year again," Shinji said, waving a hand. "People get to talking, one thing leads to another and then everyone's got the same thing on their lips: _the path that waltzes a strait of water -- Urahara's Cross!"_

Chad and Ishida quickly caught each other's eyes, before turning impervious again. 

"We were under the impression that it was just a rumour, Hirako-san," Ishida said calmly, crossing his arms. 

"Just talk," Chad agreed. 

" _Just talk,_ huh?" Shinji asked. He walked to the toilet, picked up the screw that they hadn't had time to push back in, and twirled it around his fingers. "So the genius with an IQ of a 130 is gonna stand there and call our escape plan 'just talk?'" He whirled on his heel. "Or is Ichigo the head of this operation?" He tilted his head with a grin "I'd like to speak with your manager, either way. Book myself an early ticket on the ferry to freedom." 

"We don't know what you're talking about," Ishida said icily. "If you're coming in with unfounded accusations to threaten us, I'd suggest you leave this cell immediately."

“I’ve got my eyes on you three, ya know,” Shinji said, with a shrug that said _‘your loss._ ’ “We could be allies.” 

“Perhaps that would be feasible if we were intending to escape, Hirako-san,” Ishida said firmly, as Chad nodded. “But that simply isn’t the case.” 

Luckily, Shinji was interrupted from whatever he had to say by the sound of a relentless baton beating against the door. 

“No loitering around during recreation!” Renji yelled, a tone louder than necessary. 

Ishida flinched, but breathed a sigh of relief when Shinji began stepping away. Chad remained staunch by the toilet, but raised his hand in a wave to Renji. The two continued to watch as their unwanted guests began to leave, remaining still and silent. Once the coast was clear, Chad turned on his heel. 

“How did he know?” he demanded. 

Ishida frowned deeply, removing his glasses so he could pinch his brows. “I think he caught me last week when I had Keigo bring the chloride during visitation. I was careless. This could cost us.” 

Chad sighed. “If Ichigo had been here…” He didn’t have to finish his sentence for Ishida to know what he meant. He would have found out, straight and simple. And he would have been betrayed that he didn’t hear it from Ishida and Chad themselves. 

Ishida cupped his cheek, rubbing one thumb tenderly across Chad’s skin. “He will hear it directly from the horse’s mouth,” he assured. “Now that we’ve got the chloride in place, nothing can stop us from sitting down and ironing out the details. And when tomorrow comes --” 

He stopped abruptly, hearing footsteps again.

“Hey, what was Shinji doing here?” Ichigo asked as he suddenly came up on the cell, one hand thrusting his P.I badge to the accompanying guard. 

Ishida and Chad looked at each other, then nodded. 

“Ichigo…” Chad said, not knowing how to begin. 

Ichigo, however, was fishing for something in his pockets. When he brought his palm out, there was a pair of barrettes -- one perfectly intact, one awkwardly bent and broken, barely held together. “Just one second, Chad,” he mumbled, before thrusting them into Ishida’s hands. “I’m calling in the favor.” 

Ishida suspected it clinically with his own hand. He looked up at Ichigo. “These are the doctor’s,” he said, hoping Ichigo could see the question where there wasn’t one. 

Ichigo shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to the wall. He swallowed. “I need you to fix it.” 

“I didn’t go to the country’s most established school of architecture with a minor in handicrafts so I could help you win the doctor over, Kurosaki,” Ishida said, with a little more heat than was needed. Really, the frustration came from the fact that they were supposed to be making plans, not doing _crafts_ \-- but Ichigo’s eyes were burning stubbornly. And perhaps this little gimmick might aid in keeping Ichigo in the clinic for a little longer. That was...definitely ideal. For the next few weeks at least. 

“That’s not what this is about,” Ichigo was saying, in a growl. “Inoue’s been really nice to me since I met her. I want to return the favor.” He turned to Ishida with a smirk. “Besides, Ishida, you owe me.” 

“Okay, Ichigo,” Chad said, clapping him on the shoulder with a big smile. “We understand.”

Ishida understood the underlying worry behind his words. The way he was behaving, he might as well have said, _“We hope, when the time comes, that you might understand too.”_

He stared down at the pins in his hand. If they were going to go through with this, the doctor would play an essential part. So would Kurosaki’s co-operation. 

_Two birds, one stone,_ Ishida thought, already walking over to his bed to get started. 

When things were finally ready, they could tell Ichigo about their escape plan. And when they did, Ishida hoped to God he wouldn’t put up much of a fight. 


	7. In Another Life

Unfortunately, the next morning was dry as day. Not a single drop of rainfall, not a cloud in sight. 

If Ichigo had noticed the worried glances and wordless concern his cellmates kept directing towards the sky, he sure didn’t give any indication of it. He woke up, brushed his teeth, and carefully wrapped the now-fixed barrettes in the cleanest handkerchief he managed to nick from Ishida’s collection. 

“I find your perseverance remarkable,” Ishida commented idly, flipping a page from his book. “Now, a man of respectable stature -- someone outside these walls with no rap sheet, for instance -- could perhaps replace the barrettes with something expensive, but I suppose you have the sentimental value going for you.” 

“Boy, you’re talkative today,” Ichigo mumbled under his breath, carefully folding the napkin twice over before putting it in his pocket. 

“Then again,” Ishida continued, as if Ichigo hadn’t said anything. “Your ill-temper, your crass mannerisms, your refusal to respect anyone, especially authority figures -- these are all red flags. Despite my predilection to men, I find it hard to objectively pinpoint what Dr. Inoue sees in you, Kurosaki.”

“He’s 5’10,” Chad pointed out. 

“True,” Ishida conceded. “I suppose a good height _is_ one of the evolutionary advantages that make you the dominant male in the sample species currently. And the fact that your face hasn’t had to be rearranged too many times. But I do wonder if that will be enough for her.” 

Ichigo wondered if anyone was going to raise hell at the fact that Chad found his only remarkable trait to be his height or if he had to do it himself. Then, he processed Ishida’s words and scowled. “Since when do you care so much about my lovelife, you prick?” 

Ishida leaned forward in piqued interest, all of a sudden. “Ah, so you _do_ admit that there is the possibility of a romance brewing.” 

Ichigo’s face flamed. “That’s not what I -- _urgh!”_ He grabbed a fistful of hair in his own hands. That is _not_ what I said!” he hollered, then dropped his voice to a whisper, pointing at Ishida. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“Don’t make them so easy to put.” Ishida crossed his arms smugly. 

“I hate you. Chad deserves better.” Ichigo grinned, knowing he’d crossed a line there. Ishida looked like he was going to blow a gasket. 

“Ichigo, Uryu,” Chad warned, wanting to break up the tension before it escalated into something serious. Then, he turned to Ichigo. “If you want, I could help you write a song for her.” 

“Gah!” Ichigo yelled, jerking back like Chad had stung him. “Don’t say things like that, Chad!” 

_“Quiet in there!”_ one of the guards yelled, as he made his rounds. 

They all eased up, if only slightly. Ichigo’s face was dangerously speeding from pink to deep-red, still reeling from Chad’s comment. 

The guard returned, banging on the door with a baton. “ _You’re up for P.I, Kurosaki!”_

Ichigo tensed. 

“It’ll be fine, Ichigo,” Chad assured. “Just give it to her.” 

“Or she’ll think you pawned it,” Ishida murmured disinterestedly. “As terrible as a romantic you are, even you wouldn’t want that.” 

“I hope you slip on water and die,” Ichigo spat.

“I embezzled millions from my own father’s properties to opensource medication at a lower-than-market-rate,” Ishida said, sounding bored. “It’s going to take a little more than water to kill me.” 

Ichigo considered this for a moment. Then, 

“I hope you slip on water and die anyway.” 

  
  


x.x

  
  
  


Ichigo found her in the clinic, sorting through poop. 

“Oh, I think I found one, Hanataro-san!” she exclaimed, not noticing Ichigo walk through the door. Ichigo squinted, trying to see what exactly she found. She made a face. “Blech, it’s just an undigested apple seed, false alarm.”

“Hate it when that happens,” Hanataro agreed, good-naturedly, his own tweezers and gloves sifting through the shit. 

Ichigo cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“Oh, hello, Kurosaki-san!” she said brightly, her high ponytail swishing as she turned over her shoulder. “We’re just sifting through Kotsubaki-san’s excreta to look for worm eggs this morning!” 

His stomach felt sick for her, but he figured this was her job and though she looked slightly tired, she seemed eager to make a breakthrough. He supposed he couldn’t exactly give her her pins while she was elbows-deep in shit, however, so he nodded. “Can I do something while you’re at it, then?” 

She bit her lip, like she was thinking. Ichigo tried not to think about how she was probably the only person in the entire prison who could stand in the midst of buckets and buckets of shit and still look fresh, like a newly vibrant daisy sprung from mud -- because that was some sappy shit that he did not have time to confront today. _Especially_ not after Ishida and Chad’s teasing. 

“Do you mind neatly arranging the paperwork on my desk into one big pile so it doesn’t look as cluttered as it does right now? I’d really appreciate it,” she requested, snapping him out of it. Then, as an afterthought, her eyes widened. “No peeking into the files, though! You’d be violating doctor-patient confidentiality and that would land you in a little bit of trouble.” 

“A _lot_ of trouble,” Hanataro corrected, narrowing his eyes at Ichigo. 

Ichigo raised his hands in surrender, then moved so she could give him access to her office. When she returned to the ward, he ducked inside the office and made his way to her table. By the desk light was a portrait of her brother, adjacent to a picture of her and some short, black-haired friend -- probably the Tatsuki girl. 

He began sifting through the files, arranging them as neatly as he could. Then, something flashy caught the corner of his eye, right between the beige folders. He glanced over his shoulder, saw that Orihime and Hanataro were still dealing with their crap, and pulled it out of its place. 

It was a scribbled out prescription paper, but what caught his attention wasn’t the scratched-out prescription itself, but the drawing in the upper right corner. _‘Future Me,’_ it said, under a doodle of herself with triangular conveyor belts for legs and a hiss of smoke exiting her (presumably cyborg) body. Beside her was a doodle of him -- the orange hair was a dead giveaway -- with a mechanical box for a body and bolt-like ear piercings. Smoke was coming out of his mouth, too. There was also a half-finished scribble of Renji and his daughter (two red pineapples so far), but Ichigo’s heart gave a halted thump when she saw how they were distanced a little away from him and Orihime. 

Either Orihime was good at establishing perspectives, or he was reading into this little doodle more than he should. 

“Hey, Kurosaki-san! Hanataro just popped out to bring the antibiotics for -- _oh_ ,” she cut herself off suddenly, feeling her face swarm with the most humiliating heat.

_‘He found it!’_ her brain screamed, all the mecha processors and ventilating fans in her body beginning to shut down. 

“So,” he held up the paper, unable to stop the grin on his face. “How much trouble would I be in for going through this?” 

Orihime blushed, coming up to him. “No trouble, just a lot of embarrassment on my part.” 

He flapped the paper. “You’re good with colors.” 

She waved dismissively. “Oh, really, it’s nothing--just very, very childish things that I, as an adult, should know better than to do...you’re teasing me, aren’t you?” 

He set the paper down and beckoned her to come closer. She did, stepping right in front of him with a curious look on her face. “Close your eyes,” he said, feeling his voice suddenly turn low and gravelly. 

“Kurosaki-san…” she said, a little uncertainly, but when she looked into his eyes, she knew she could trust him when she closed hers. 

He watched for a moment, as her lids came down with their feathery lashes. From his pocket, he picked out her pins with one hand, carefully reaching for her hand with the other. When his fingers brushed over the skin of her wrist, she gasped, but didn’t shirk away. He pried open her fist gently, before putting the flowery pins back in her palm. “Open them,” he said, almost a whisper. 

From the feel of the metal alone, she knew what he’d done. Her eyes began to blur with tears as she opened them, regarding the newly fixed pins in shock. “Y-you…” 

“I had Ishida fix it for me,” he answered, feeling heat snake up his neck. “He, uh, he’s kind of an asshole but he minored in handicrafts and he owed me a favor, so I thought I’d do something--,” he coughed to hide his flush behind his palm. “--something nice for you, because I thought it was the right thing to do and --” 

He didn’t have time to finish, because Orihime had all but _thrown_ herself at him, arms looped around his middle. It was a loose grip, giving him enough space to pull back, but when she murmured _‘thank you, thank you, thank you,_ ’ into his chest, he felt his own arms encircling her in a tight embrace. 

She pulled her head away from his chest, still in his arms, and smiled at him. “That was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me, Kurosaki-san. Thank you so much.”

If he was half-alert, he would have scoffed and said something about the bar being too low. But right now, staring into her deep, stormy eyes, he felt himself getting pulled into something new and exhilarating. Something that teetered at the edge of a cliff, begging him to push himself off and enjoy the swoop in his stomach at the free fall. 

One of his hands left her back to cup her face, while the other stayed respectfully on her shoulder. He looked down at her face, the emotion in her eyes indescribable as anything but pure _feeling_. 

Ichigo leaned down, the edge of his rough nose bumping with her small, stubby one. Touching his lips tentatively with hers, their mouths brushed together gently when they made contact. Orihime sucked in a breath, the puff of air ticklish on his mouth, before she leaned up to return the kiss. She rubbed his forearms up and down tenderly with her palms, a soft sigh escaping her when she felt his muscles running underneath her palms. 

One of Ichigo’s hands remained on her shoulder, firm, but not too tight -- like he was giving her enough freedom to pull away from him if and when she wanted to. The fingers of his other hand gently trailed down the back of her neck, tracing the baby hairs from the base of her rounded hairline to the bony little bump at the bottom. 

For a split second, as he pulled away, he somehow decided the details of where, when, and how were all irrelevant as long as it was _them_ and they were _together_. Then, when he saw her beautiful, awe-struck face, he felt a sense of realization wash over him, terribly cold and grazing. 

“Inoue…” 

She must have seen it in his eyes, because she gently dislodged his hand from her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said, in a small voice, staring at her feet. “That was _very_ unprofessional of me, I didn’t...I mean -- I’m sorry.” She hated the way her voice trembled, hated even more that she couldn’t bring herself to call this a mistake. 

_I kissed you,_ one half of Ichigo wanted to say. The other half wanted to pull her to him, hold her tight, and do it again. He felt his heart sink at her obvious attempt to keep herself from tearing up in front of him. “Inoue,” he tried again, knowing what the right thing to say was, but not liking how incredibly wrong and bitter it tasted on his tongue. “We shouldn’t have.” 

“I know,” she replied, quietly. When she looked up at him, there was a quiet, resilient bravery there that he admired and envied. She was a lot stronger than he’d ever be, the way she was meeting his gaze through the hurt and the realization and the tiny tears. “I’m sorry. Do you think, maybe we would have…? In another lifetime?” 

He looked away, not wanting to see the hope in her eyes. He wasn’t _that_ strong. “Don’t do that,” he warned, going a few steps back. “Let’s not...do that.” 

She sniffed and nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “I think you should go,” she whispered, staring down at her hands. 

“Okay.” Ichigo ran his hand through his hair, feeling this caged energy coursing through his veins, red-hot. 

“Can we still be friends?” she asked, bottom lip trembling dangerously. 

His chest ached. He needed to get out of here before he did something stupid again. 

“Okay,” he said, hoarsely. 

She wiped a pesky little tear with the back of her knuckle, suddenly finding the fake potted plant on her desk very interesting. 

“Inoue, I’m --” 

“Please, Kurosaki-san,” she said, turning away from him fully. “Just go.” 

He hesitated for a moment, then rapped the front door. After catching the guard’s attention, he left wordlessly, not once looking back over his shoulder. 

  
  



	8. The Storm: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: it would be too cliche if I went full-drama(™) and made Bleach parallels 
> 
> Also me: I will Die if I don’t go full Ichihime-mode and make Bleach parallels. 

As evening grew into night, weather began turning inclement. Dark clouds were speedily clustering over the spire tops of the penitentiary, amping up the apprehension for what was to be done tonight. 

Chad, Ishida and Ichigo had just returned from an uneventful dinner, with Ichigo more stonily silent than usual and Ishida swimming in over his head about the little details of their trial-run and eventual escape. _Time? Place? Contingencies?_

Seeing both the boys silent was an odd position for Chad, who never had to be the conversation-initiator between the three of them for as long as they had been friends. Abuelo had always emphasized the importance of watching, observing -- not saying much unless it was necessary. While those ingrained traits had come in handy during his incarceration, it left him a little incapacitated to handle the moods of his friends. 

And while he knew what Ishida was worried about, technically, Ichigo was a different story. He had seemed distant -- more so than usual -- ever since his return from the infirmary. 

Chad got up from his own bunk and walked over to Ichigo’s. “Ichigo,” he said, as a way of greeting. 

Ichigo hummed, but didn’t say anything else. Outside, the first crescendo of rain began, a steady patter on the dry grass of Seireitei. 

“It’s getting dark,” Chad observed, watching the shadows of the drops illuminate Ishida’s pale, contemplative face where he stood by the window. 

“It always was,” Ichigo replied quietly. He collapsed against the bed, covering his eyes with one hand like he was in pain. 

Whatever ailed Ichigo, Chad suspected it had something to do with Dr. Inoue. Mornings spent in her company always did something to uplift his mood; he’d return, still scowling, but always more companionable and relaxed since he’d left. Though Ichigo hadn’t given any indication of _anything_ , Chad guessed that something must have happened that changed their dynamic in some way -- opened Ichigo up to new possibilities that scared him. 

“I’m here,” Chad said simply, “if you want to talk.” 

“Thanks, Chad,” Ichigo mumbled, rolling over, “but I think I’m just gonna sleep this one off.” 

Chad sighed. 

x.x 

  
  


Orihime was fast asleep on her desk. 

In her dreams, she was in a courtroom somewhere. All around her body was the wooden barricade of a witness stand, clamping her from moving anywhere. Across the room, at the plaintiff’s table, was Ichigo. 

“Is it true that the defendant kissed the witness in the so-called privacy of the infirmary, a heinous act that is strictly forbidden according to code #283 in the _Prison Manual of Conduct_?” asked a haughty-looking lawyer that Orihime was sure was a character in some daytime crime drama she used to watch.

“I didn’t mean to!” she insisted, vying for the judge’s -- Shinji’s -- support. “It just happened! I thought what he did for me was really kind and he was looking at me really intensely and it just...happened!” 

The lawyer gave an exaggerated snort. _How rude,_ Orihime thought, a little hotly. 

Shinji banged the gavel lazily. “Now, now, Hime-chan,” he said, shifting his head from one elbow to the other, a saucy grin on his face. “I think what the entire courtroom wants to know today comes down to this…” He leaned forward dramatically in his seat. “How was it?” 

Orihime blinked. “How was...the kiss?” 

“Yes!” Shinji exclaimed, looking at her like she was stupid. 

Orihime glanced at Ichigo, feeling her face heat up at the kind, patient look he was giving her. The same one he wore whenever she rambled about something he found amusing. She flushed, looking down at her lap, “Well, I don’t know what to say...it was- it was really nice. Kurosaki-san is a good kisser. I liked it."

“That’s it!” Shinji announced suddenly, like he’d been waiting for her admission of guilt. “I declare the defendant guilty of second-degree smooching! That’s like first-degree smooching but in the heat of the moment, and with a lot less touching,” he informed the invisible audience primly. Then, he suddenly pointed at her. “Guard! Take her away to be beheaded immediately!” 

“No!” Orihime bellowed, struggling to escape from her holding. “I’m innocent!” 

The gavel banged repeatedly through the uproar, signalling her impending doom. 

Orihime jolted awake, her body still reeling from the adrenaline of her dream. “Gosh,” she murmured, blinking the stupor out of her eyes. 

Outside, the wind howled violently, flashes of lightning slapping the steady rain. She got up from her chair slowly and grabbed her purse, ready to head to her quarters and call it a night. The day had been taxing and she was just about ready to stuff her face in ice-cream and cry. 

As she made her way towards the light switch, she turned over her shoulder to ensure that everything was in place before she left.

Suddenly, the power went out. She was plunged into pitch-black darkness, making her jerk. All around her, she could hear the stuttering whir of machinery powering down, leaving her alone with the sounds of the rain. 

She fished through her purse for her phone, letting out a relieved sigh when the overhead lights flickered on instead. As she let her hand fall to her side, she began walking out of her office. It was not surprising that there had been a minor outage, considering the weather outside, but she was relieved that the lights came back on anyway. It was scary when it was dark down here. 

She retreated to the corridor outside, ready to clock out and head home. 

_That_ was when the sirens went off. 

  
  


x.x

There was a crashing sound of glass breaking somewhere. 

“What the hell is happening?” Ichigo asked groggily, coming to. One minute, everything was a-okay and then the lights had gone out. They had returned soon enough, but the power outage had sprung the prison doors open, leading a throng of prisoners to rush outside their cells, jeering, screaming and banging on the cell doors as they ran amuck. “Chad? Ishida?”

“We’re here,” Chad said, somewhere to Ichigo’s left, wincing when a group clamored and banged past their door mid-run. 

Ishida was frowning. “It appears the generators haven’t kicked in,” he explained, running a hand along their opened cell door. “Generally, when the power goes out in the penitentiary, the reinforcements for the prison doors are temporarily disabled. But that’s very brief. They usually kick right back in because they’re hooked to generators that ensure they remain locked even during an outage. There must have been a fuse.” 

“So we’re having a riot, basically,” murmured Ichigo, turning over in bed as violent clashes and bone-breaking grunts could be heard outside. “Put up the laundry sheet, I’m going back to sleep.” 

There was a rustle of movement. Then, 

_“First one to break a blue’s forearm gets a pack of cigs!”_ Ikkaku hollered from somewhere below, followed by a chorus of cheers and roars. The noise reverberated all along the walls, making the floors thrum with the movement of inmates. 

_“Hang back or I’ll shoot!”_ they could hear some poor rookie guard screaming from the watch cubicle by the stairs. Laughter and howls rang through the corridors, the storming of footsteps getting louder by the second. 

Chad watched the goings-on with concern in his eyes. Ichigo groaned, burying his head under a pillow. Ishida, however, looked pensive. 

“I wasn’t anticipating this to happen,” he said, looking at Chad meaningfully. “But if it’s landed in our laps, I’m going to count it as a blessing. We need to get started now, while everyone else is occupied. Sado-kun, laundry sheet.” 

“Right!” Chad scrambled, quickly tying up the white sheet to the bedpost and slinging it past the open cell door. 

Ichigo sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What’re you guys doing?” 

“Kurosaki, we need to talk,” Ishida said grimly, crossing his arms to regard Ichigo with a solemnity that made Ichigo’s stomach drop with apprehension. “There’s a--” 

Ichigo held up his finger suddenly, his senses growing alert when he heard Renji’s chagrined voice passing by their door. 

“--well the door generators haven’t kicked in and a coupla assholes got some ideas,” he was saying to the walkie-talkie over his shoulder, the click of his boots passing by hurriedly. “We’re gonna try and get things under control here, put all the four wings under lockdown, pronto, before things escalate. You guys focus on getting your manpower to the Maggot’s Nest.” 

_“Roger that.”_

“And hey, has anyone at base tried contacting Dr. Inoue?” he continued, a note of worry in his voice. 

Ichigo stilled, not realizing that the muscles in his legs had forced him to stand up. His veins turned ice-cold as he approached the cell door to listen, not bothering to throw his uniform over his plain, long-sleeved shirt, or even smoothen the sleep-ruffled crinkles down. 

_“We tried her office, sir,”_ the walkie-talkie crackled harshly. “ _No response_.” 

Chad and Ishida exchanged glances behind Ichigo’s tight-coiled shoulders. 

"Is she still on the grounds?" 

_"We think so. She hasn't clocked out yet."_

“Well, keep trying her line then,” Renji barked, sounding exhausted. “Her office is right by the Nest. I don’t wanna hear squat about anything happening to her, got it?” 

The sounds of his voice got distant as he barged further away from Ichigo’s cell. It would seem as if Renji had his hands full tonight, regardless of his state of concern for his new friend. And if a lockdown was going to be enforced, there was definite cause to believe he wouldn’t be leaving this area for the next 24 hours.

Ichigo regarded the riot for a moment with solemn eyes, his fist clenched. Then, he spoke in a low voice. “Sorry, Ishida. Whatever you were going to say is going to have to wait.” He turned over his shoulder and regarded them with a fiercely determined gaze. “I’m going to find Inoue.” 

He began to move, without waiting for either of them to respond, but Ishida yanked him back by the back of his shirt forcefully. 

Ichigo scowled, stumbling back in surprise. “I _said_ it can wait, Ishida --” He stopped mid-sentence when Ishida began dragging him forcefully to the toilet. His hip hit the metal and he scrunched his face, half in pain and half in impatience. “What the hell?”

Ishida, however, began furiously working the toilet screw with both his hands. Chad, catching his drift, immediately played his part in shoving the bowl aside to pry open the hole. A swift draft of air blew in as the vent fully opened up. Ichigo stared at it, then at Ishida and Chad, open-mouthed. His eyes were wide in alarm. 

“Kurosaki,” Ishida said solemnly, standing up. “You’ll never find her if you go hunting in a crowd like this.” He jerked his head to the square-shaped opening. “Use this passageway instead. Keep going until you reach the deadend. The lower half of the wall there should be damp with the remnants of chloride. If you use enough pressure, it should bring down the tensile strength of the wall and open up to an old tunnel that leads straight to the vent in her office.” 

Ichigo blinked. Slowly, color began draining from his face. “You…” 

“--were going to use it tonight to test it out ourselves,” Ishida finished, with a sigh. Behind him, Chad nodded. “But as you said, it can wait. We’ll explain later. Go find the doctor.” 

Ichigo opened his mouth. “I --” 

“Go!” Ishida and Chad yelled in unison, practically shoving him into the vent. The feeling of hands cramming him further began a dull ache somewhere between his shoulders, but he slipped through anyway. When he turned over his shoulder, Ishida and Chad were already pushing the toilet back into place. The light from their cell slowly began to dim with the movement of the door. 

“Knock when you come back,” was the last thing Ichigo heard Chad whisper before the vent fully closed. All of a sudden, his ears felt strange at the lack of noise. 

Once in there, in the darkness, he blinked, feeling his eyes get familiar with this wildly unfamiliar background. How long had it been since he saw a place that was not his room, the library, the courtyard, the canteen, or the infirmary? The thought of the infirmary suddenly had him remembering what he was down here _for_. In the distance, he could still hear the jeers and shouts of his fellow inmates. 

That had him tumbling faster through the unfamiliar vents to get to the doctor’s office. 

_Wait for me, Inoue_ , he thought, his feet taking off in the direction Ishida had instructed him towards. _I’ll protect you._


	9. The Storm: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so in retrospect, I probably should have mentioned this earlier but this fic takes place in the late 90’s, specifically 1995-1996 ish. Idk if that’s relevant to you, but if you’re a stickler for detail like me, I thought I’d make that clear.
> 
>  **Warning:** prison riot-y stuff, nothing too graphic but might be a little scary/gory if you’re not fond of blood or being in threatening situations. Nothing explicit, rated M maybe for violence.

  


  


  


Upon hearing a low groan, Orihime had wandered pretty deep into the prison’s penetralium. The walls were slick, the lights here dim, dimmer than in her office, but as much as the idea of a riot scared her, there was very much the likelihood that some of the weaker or disadvantaged inmates might be hurt. 

  


And _that_ was what was keeping her feet moving towards the source of the sound. The _tip-tip-tip_ of her own shoes clicking against the floor provided little relief in the grander scheme of that low, rackety cough she could hear in the distance. 

  


She turned her head around the corner. There were distant shouts and clangs she could hear from elsewhere in the prison, but down here it was mostly quiet. She suspected she was somewhere by the boiler rooms, where prisoners either had no interest or access.

  


In the distance, she could see someone slumped over by a pipe. She bolted towards him, as fast as her legs could carry her.

  


“Hello!” she began announcing her presence, feeling a little breathless as she came up towards the inmate. “I’m Dr. Inoue, I heard you down here so I came to help!”

  


At one glance, she realized the man she was staring at was, in fact, _the_ Kenpachi Zaraki, whose notoriety rode specifically on his ability to drive the fear of God into the people around him. Orihime swallowed. The eyepatch, the hair, the patented cough Renji told her about -- they all seemed to point in that direction, to her luck. 

  


At a second glance, however, she realized he was terribly weak. Sweaty. Feverish. She inched closer, crawling on all fours like a baby. 

  


Zaraki smacked the ground with one palm, producing a loud _‘thud’_ that made her flinch. Then, he fell over on his side again.

  


“Zaraki-san?” she said cautiously, crouching on her knees to get closer to him. Seeing as he was only half-conscious, she decided to tilt his head and check his lymph nodes. 

  


That was the wrong thing to do apparently, because it was at that brief contact that Zaraki regained some awareness. His hand immediately struck at her shoulder, the intensity and unexpectedness of the blow sending her flying back on her butt. 

  


“Owwie,” she cried, rubbing her now-definitely-wet pants. 

  


“Whozzhere,” he grumbled roughly, scratching his chin as he looked around left and right. His eyes narrowed when he fixed his eye-patched gaze on her. “Who’re you?”

  


Orihime gingerly got up again, gave him a bright smile. “Dr. Inoue, sir!” she reported, wondering whether he would take to being called ‘sir’ well. “May I ask what you’re doing down here all by yourself?”

  


Well, obviously one reason could be that he was using the riot upstairs as a means to find escape, _or_ he was looking for trouble -- but Orihime didn’t like assuming. It was also possible that he was sick -- which he, factually, was -- and he might have been seeking help. She suddenly felt relieved at having come down here to look for him. That definitely had to be the reason he was down here, this far away from gen-pop!

  


“Tch. Got lost,” he drawled, flexing his bare arms as he regarded his surroundings.

  


_Lost?_ Orihime blinked, a little taken aback. “Well your lymph nodes are a little swollen, Zaraki-san,” she soldiered on, regardless. “I can administer some tuberculin for you and take you back to my office? You can rest there until the riot blows over.” 

  


“Heh. Right,” Zaraki said, supporting his weight on one of the pipes so he could stand. Orihime squeaked lightly, feeling a wave of panic run through her on the off-chance that he would fall again and she would have to carry him. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Kurosaki is, would ya?” 

  


Orihime’s heart tightened at Ichigo’s name. “Kurosaki-san?” she asked, with a little frown. “Why would you be looking for him?” Was _Ichigo_ looking for the Kenpachi? That seemed highly unlikely, given what Ichigo had told her about the man in front of her. Suddenly, another shudder of concern occurred to her: was Ichigo alright?

  


“He owes me a rematch,” Zaraki replied lazily, eyeing his surroundings. “On first glance this seemed like the place he’d run to, but he ain’t here.” He jerked his head towards her. “You,” he said, like he was just now actively registering her presence. “Take me back to gen-pop.” 

  


Orihime bit her lip, wondering why anyone would want to go there _at this time._ Not to mention, she had a duty to treat him. Yet somehow, she figured unless she could produce Ichigo out of thin air, the man wouldn’t care much for what she had to say. And if she _could_ produce Ichigo out of thin air, setting him free to fight Zaraki would not be her priority. Making sure he was unhurt _was_. 

  


“Alright,” she conceded anyway, reaching into her pocket for the handy little syringe holders strapped inside. “I’ll show you the way. Can I just give you some tuberculin first?” 

  


He grunted, but didn’t say anything else. She took his sounds as affirmation, gently injecting him as quickly as she could before he could change his mind about her being close to him. Her bum still stung from her fall, she didn't want a repeat. 

  


Once they were wrapped up, she helped him to his feet and guided him around the corner. Despite being a little rough around the edges, he certainly wasn’t unreasonably cruel or violent with her -- which once again confirmed her hypothesis that people would like these men better if they just got to know them. Satisfied with her conclusion, she dropped Zaraki off at a breaking point between the entryway and the Maggot’s Nest. 

  


“Straight ahead, Zaraki-san!” she said, cheerfully. “Be careful! Drop in after 48 hours so I can re-administer your injection, okay?” 

  


He didn’t seem to care about the last bit of information, but he nodded at her gratefully anyway. Then, he was off, thumping along the floors and jingling his bells as he headed towards chaos. 

  


Orihime blew a breath out of her cheeks, feeling slightly relieved that her first prison riot had left nothing more than an accidental bruise on her butt. 

  


In retrospect, she would later say _that_ had been the exact moment she had jinxed her fate. She heard a soft snicker of laughter slithering behind her, making her stomach drop. 

  


Orihime turned over heel to instantly come face-to-face with someone’s chest. She glanced up, swallowing audibly when she noticed the long strands of black hair falling over the man’s shoulders. The familiar, leery smile that she had seen on television all those years ago when she was little. The man that had every well-meaning parent, Sora included, locking their daughters in well before eight. The fascination of documentaries and criminal psychology textbooks, of law and history and incarceration itself. 

  


Nnoitra Gliga. Arguably the most notorious serial killer of the ‘80’s --

  


\-- _standing right in front of her._

  


“Hi there, pretty.”

  
  
  
  


_x.x_

_  
_

  
  


After what felt like an eternity crawling through tunnels that had moulded and undergone severe disuse, Ichigo decided Ishida Uryu was clinically insane. While the tunnels were certainly exactly as they had been advertised-- he could see the doctor’s office through the grates -- they were nowhere _near_ sustainable. He had multiple bruises on his knees and thighs, a patch of sticky blood forming on his temple where he’d hit it against a wall. 

  


Yet, as he began undoing the grate on the vent, all he could hope for was Orihime’s safety. He desperately anticipated that she would be right there, sleeping on her desk. He’d go up to her, demand why she didn’t answer the office phone, and she’d give him a sheepish smile and say “ _sorry, Kurosaki-san, I fell asleep and the little phone beeps just didn’t reach my overactive, busy brain in time for me to tell you I’m a-okay!”_

  


Then, relief in his heart that this was all for naught, he would hold her to his chest and --

  


He closed his eyes painfully, kicking open the grate door. The plan was to find her, make sure she was safe, and get back. There would be no hugging, no staring into her eyes, none of it. Zilch. This wasn’t about _them_ , it was about _her_. Her safety.

  


He had pretty much made a mental promise to protect her for as long as they’d known each other. That was non-negotiable. He’d honor that, damn the consequences. Then, he'd get back. 

  


And once he was safely out of reach, _then_ he would torture himself with what was, what could have been, what would be...if he wasn't an inmate and she didn’t work here. Then, just to add salt to the wounds, he'd think about _her_. And how, if he was half the man he was supposed to be, he would do the honourable thing and leave her alone. 

  


For now, he just focused on finding her. 

  


He exited the grate, blinking around the dark, empty office. There were virtually no sounds, spare the rustle of rain.

  


That was a bad sign. 

  


“Inoue?” he called out quietly, coughing through the puffs of dust he’d accommodated on his way here. 

  


With every expanding inch of the room he scanned for her, he felt his stomach sink in a clawing fear. There was absolutely nothing -- _no one_ \-- here, spare Ukitake, who was deep in his coma and would know nothing about where she had gone.

  


Then, he heard a high-pitched scream. 

  
  


x.x

  
  
  


Orihime backed up, very carefully trying to balance her breathing while reaching for her sedative with one sweaty hand. Somewhere in her heart, there was a lodged hope that someone would have heard her warning scream. Someone on her side. 

  


“S-stay back!” she cried, whimpering when Nnoitra inched closer. Feeling herself getting closer and closer to the wall, she changed angles and inched backwards diagonally. Nnoitora circled her like a hawk, his tattoo peeking out to touch his bottom lip as he leered at her. In the shadows stood another man with ginger hair, watching her. He seemed to be waiting for Nnoitra to initiate any first moves. 

  


“Come now, pet-sama,” Nnoitra shrilled, his large shank peeking out of his sleeve’s wrist. “I just wanna dance, play a lil’ game with you – that’s all.”

  


Orihime took a huge gulp. “Please,” she said, her voice faltering. “No one has to get hurt. I-I won’t be reporting this if you let me go, I promise…”

  


Nnoitra cackled, like he was heavily amused. He took a step closer. “You _promise_ , huh?”

  


_Now or never, Orihime,_ she steeled herself. She tightened her hold on the syringe, watching his movements carefully. The man behind her hadn’t moved yet, so she decided to pour all her focus on Nnoitra. 

  


She lunged. Unfortunately for her, the poor lighting of this place and her sheer flightless energy had her foot catching right into a pool of leaked water on the tile-floor. She slipped, landing harshly on her chin while her syringe went scattering a few feet away. 

  


_‘Rats!’_ she cursed, feeling her eyes water in pain. Her one weapon had all but skirted down the alley! She tried to force herself up, but felt her entire body shaking in fear. Thin lines of tears and water ran down her nose as she tried to prop herself up and see what was happening in front of her. 

  


“What’s this?” Nnoitra was asking, bending over to pick up the syringe. “Eh, Tesla, looks like we’ve got ourselves a tough bite!” He howled, tossing his head back in sadistic joy. 

  


Orihime, in her fit of panic, kicked him in the shin _hard_ from where she was on the floor. It was nowhere strong enough to break his bone, but he stumbled backward in surprise. Orihime quickly budged over, scrambling to her feet as Nnoitra collapsed a few paces in front of her. 

  


Her eyes scanned her surroundings, heart beating so rapidly she was sure she was going to die of fear alone. They fixed on Tesla, whose shoulders had hunched in preparation to charge straight at her. She gasped, willing the muscles in her leg to regain strength, help her move again. She felt frozen.

  


Before he could attack, however, Tesla went down with a loud _‘thunk’_ delivered to the back of his head. The last she saw of him were his glazed eyes, before he messily landed right onto the floor of puddled water. 

  


In the midst of darkness, through the shadows, she saw a shock of orange waver, like a flash of fire. A quiet inferno.

  


_Ichigo._

  


The subsequent hope that had fluttered in her chest didn’t hold a candle to any kind of safety or security she had ever felt in her life. Ichigo's eyes lifted from Tesla’s body to meet hers, the creases of skin folded in worry lines around them. The warmth that filled her chest was indescribable, gently coursing from her heart to her fingertips.

  


“Kurosaki-san,” she whispered, eyes swarming with tears at the sight of him. His eyes regarded her temporarily with a burning gaze, then widened in panic at a spot behind her. 

  


“Inoue!” he bellowed, a guttural shout as he tried to charge from his distance towards her. 

  


Suddenly, Orihime felt a pair of arms wrap around her middle and her torso, lifting her into the air and away from Ichigo as his grip tightened.

  


“Mrgh!” she shrieked desperately, trying to wriggle out of Nnoitora’s hold. Then, as his fingers came to silence her, she bit down on them as hard as she could, hoping she could buy Ichigo some time. Her teeth rammed down on his cold flesh, wincing when she made contact with his skin.

  


Sure enough, he released her with a hard push, face blind with pale rage. “You b--”

  


Ichigo lunged forward immediately with the force of gust, one arm punching Nnoitra square in the face. Orihime quickly stepped away, feeling her chest burn with relief and the slow draft of returning oxygen. Nnoitra staggered back, but immediately tried getting back up to his feet again.

  


“I’m gonna kill you,” he threatened, staring straight ahead at Orihime with a heaving, cold stare. 

  


Ichigo stepped in front of her, one hand extending to block Nnoitra from his view of her. “If you wanna kill Inoue, you’re gonna have to kill me first,” he spat.

  


Nnoitra attacked, but Ichigo was too fast for him. Orihime heard a bone crack as he shoved one palm flat against Nnoitra’s bicep. He used the other to retrieve the shank swiftly, slicing across Nnoitra’s chest with a disarming force. The man flew back, hit the wall with a sickening crunch. His blood spattered straight up against the wall as he groaned in pain, head lolling downwards. 

  


For a moment, no one spoke or moved. The only sounds were the crack-and-whip of thunder outside, coupled with Ichigo and Orihime’s heavy breathing. 

  


Orihime watched as Ichigo turned on his heel to look at her. Under the slanting light, she noticed blood slicking down his forehead, collecting in heavy drops at the edge of his jaw. 

  


“Kurosaki-san,” she said, feeling a bolt of alarm run up her spine. “You’re hurt!” 

  


He grabbed her wrist before she could touch him. When he bent his chin to meet her eyes, Orihime shuddered at his darkened, soft gaze. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, thumb stroking the skin of her wrist tenderly. 

  


Orihime nodded, then felt her face split into a sheepish, embarrassed grin. “I am now, considering Kurosaki-san came to my rescue!” she cheered nervously, a little too loud as she regarded the room. “I, um…” 

  


_How did you get here?_ She wanted to ask. _Why did you come?_

  


“Kurosaki-san...” she said, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with this _need_. To hold him to her and breathe him in, reminding her that he was here and he was with her. That she was safe and _he was here._

  


She schooled herself; of course he was here. He had been nothing but kind, empathetic and caring since she’d known him, and he was nothing short of a hero – no matter how much he’d vehemently deny it. Chalking this up to anything more than it was would only hurt her, as she had learned since meeting him. 

  


She slipped her wrist carefully out of his grip, giving him a strained smile. 

  


“Come on, Inoue,” he said shortly, ignoring the plummet in his stomach at her withdrawal. “Let’s get out of here.” 

  


He started moving. She turned over her shoulder, feeling her chest hitch in guilt at the two bleeding, unconscious figures on the floor. 

  


“Should I –“

  


“Don’t even think about it,” Ichigo cut her off, returning to drag her with him before she could even consider going back there and stabilizing them. This time, he relinquished his grip soon after she was back to his side, storming ahead of her. He clenched his fist, his frustration making him blind to the similar pang of hurt in her own eyes behind him. 

  


They quickly leaped over the bodies and rounded corners, ready to head back to the alleyway that housed her office. A sudden chatter of inmates on the L-bend had Ichigo moving quickly, grabbing Orihime as they backed themselves into a dark corner. Noticing Grimmjow and his men, Ichigo quickly put one hand around Orihime’s mouth to cover up her gasp. They waited with bated breath, listened as the group passed by. 

  


“I say we raid the store closets, boss. With our luck, some dummy guard might have left a spare set of keys behind,” Yammy, the tall right-hand man of Ulquiorra jeered. Ulquiorra himself was walking at a distance from the rest of the group, hands behind his back. For a moment, he stalled in his footsteps, eyes darting suspiciously close to where Ichigo and Orihime were ducking for cover.

  


“It would be futile,” he replied quietly. “If the guards are aware of this fated Cross, that would be the most heavily guarded location in the prison at the moment.” His eyes swept over to Ichigo and Orihime’s hiding spot again. He paused. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone here.” 

  


“Heh. Except Nnoitra,” Grimmjow said, kicking at Nnoitra’s crumpled body. “Looks like someone got ‘im bad.” He jerked his head to regard the infirmary. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea to go around lookin’ for trouble.”

  


Yammy snapped his thick fingers. “Hey…” he rumbled, the first inklings of an idea forming in his brain. “What if we took the doctor for a ransom?” 

  


Ichigo’s grip tightened on Orihime’s waist, pulling them even further back against the shadows. She bit her lip, staying close to Ichigo even as her body trembled.

  


“Kurosaki-san, we can’t let them in the infirmary,” she whispered, clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly. “Ukitake-san is in there by himself.” 

  


Ichigo grit his teeth, watching as the men observed the idle infirmary. 

  


“You are being ridiculously foolish, Yammy,” Ulquiorra was saying coldly. “One misstep and we risk the chance of the Maggot’s Nest. The guards will not take the kidnapping of prison staff lightly.”

  


“So what do we do?” Yammy asked, lazily flicking his finger in his ear. 

  


“We keep looking,” Ulquiorra finished calmly, regarding his surroundings.

  


“Sounds fuckin’ boring,” Grimmjow retorted, but continued walking with the other men anyway. Their footsteps began receding as they headed into the deeper pockets of the prison. 

  


Ichigo and Orihime waited a few more moments, chests heaving as they listened for noise. When the coast was clear, Orihime let out a relieved breath, unable to hold back a dry sob that she covered with her mouth. “T-they were going to…” 

  


“I would have never let that happen,” Ichigo said fiercely, hands coming up on both her shoulders to make her face him. He tilted her chin upwards. “I would have _never_ let that happen, Inoue.” 

  


She nodded blankly, mechanically almost. Ichigo wrapped his arm around her shoulders comfortingly. “Come on,” he said, low, right into her ear. “I’ll take you back to the walkway. You can find a guard, have them walk you back to your quarters.” 

  


Orihime shook her head, lower lip trembling. “I can’t leave Ukitake-san behind,” she said softly. “We don’t know when the next guard is going to come around here and I-I can’t just let him be here by himself. Not after everything we heard…” 

  


Ichigo sighed. She had a point. There was no telling who could take advantage of a comatose man with everything being in a state of disarray. As eager as he was to head back, he couldn’t ignore that.

  


“Alright, then,” he said, guiding them towards the infirmary. “Let’s go.” 

  


Orihime blinked at him in surprise. “You’re coming with me?”

  


He gave her a rueful half-smile. “Not like I’ve got anywhere else to be.” 

  


For the first time that night, Orihime laughed. The sounds bubbled straight from her chest, genuine and bright.

  


He extended his hand, his eyes bearing a softened expression that she marked as relief, mixed with a little _something_ that made her heart flutter. 

  


She took it. 

  



	10. The Storm: Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! 'The Storm,' an act in three parts, is _finally_ concluded!
> 
> **Warning:** Sex between two consenting adults, more on the mature side than explicit (I think).

“You should call Abarai,” Ichigo said, as he closed the infirmary door behind him. “Let him know you’re safe.”

Orihime nodded mutely, shrugging off her coat. Once she had draped it across her chair, she began closing all the shutters to her office, checking and re-checking the manual locks that had to be put in place. 

Ichigo watched as her hands trembled against the latch’s metal. When she struggled with the clasp for the third time, he stepped forward from where he was leaning against her desk. “Relax, I’ll take care of it. Go call Abarai.” 

“Thank you,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes as she left him to go find the phone. He watched from his peripheral as she stared at the multiple green lines on her telephone. A lot of people must have tried to get in touch with her while she was gone. She seemed to bite her lip in guilt as she picked up the receiver. 

While Orihime dialled the guard’s office, Ichigo began dimming down the lights wherever he could find a switch. The possibility of someone breaking into the infirmary was a legitimate fear, considering just how close it was to the Maggot’s Nest. If Orihime had encountered Nnoitra tonight, there was no telling what other kind of creeps would come crawling out of the woodwork, looking for trouble. 

“I’m alright, Abarai-san,” he heard her say softly into the receiver, from somewhere behind him. “N-no, no one tried to hurt me. I found Zaraki-san, though! He was coughing up quite the racket down here like you said, so I did my very best to help him and then returned straight to my office!” 

There was something unnatural and forced in her tone, but judging from the way the conversation was going, Ichigo didn’t think Abarai had noticed. He wondered why she left out the bit about Nnoitra. Probably not to worry him. Then again, she hadn’t mentioned Ichigo either and he wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to protect by hiding it. Knowing how selfless she had been in the time he had known her, however, he had a crawling suspicion of the answer.

“Yes, Abarai-san, I’m sure,” she insisted, twirling the cord around her finger. She hummed and ah-ed while she listened to him, before pausing. “Ah. I see.” Suddenly, she turned to Ichigo, blushed, and quickly stared at her feet again. “No, that won’t be a problem! I’m quite safe here, not to worry! Okay. Alright. Uh-huh. You too, bye-bye.” 

Ichigo wondered what that was about. He pretended to fiddle with the locks as she set down the receiver. He heard her soft footsteps come up behind him, before she cleared her throat. 

“Um, Kurosaki-san,” she said softly, staring up at him with a little uncertainty. “Abarai-san just told me they put gen-pop under lockdown, all the four wings.” 

Ichigo raised his eyebrows, wondering why she was telling him this. “Ah. I see,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, not seeing where she was going with this. 

“The lockdown is supposed to help the guards keep a headcount of the people inside the wings so they can herd and look for everyone that managed to get _out_ ,” she explained in a speedy ramble, her hands going haywire with movement as she talked. “It’s a very efficient process, actually! The guards will have a much easier time searching for stragglers outside while handling the safety of the inmates still inside! Whoever came up with this must be quite the genius, huh?”

“Inoue,” he interrupted. “What’s going on?”

“Well, as you know, I just got off the phone with Abarai-san…”

“Uh-huh.” 

She blushed, braving to meet his eyes. “He said all prison staff offices are going to be locked for the next six hours so everyone can stay put and be accounted for easily. He was waiting for my signal so he could call a prison-wide lockdown.” She took a deep breath. “The, um, reinforcements for the doors just kicked in, and they won’t really be lifted until the _lockdown_ is lifted so…”

Ichigo blinked. Then, he processed her words. “So we’re stuck here for six hours?” _Together_? _Alone? Alone together?_

She nodded. Suddenly, her blushing made a whole lot of sense. 

_Fuck!_ He groaned mentally. Being around her during P.I was hard enough, an hour a day with a lot of eyes watching them. He surely wasn’t expected to be strong enough to last _six hours_ with no supervision? Hell, the last time they’d been in here, Hanataro had stepped out for two minutes and he’d _kissed her._

She must have seen something in his expression, because her face fell. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing her head apologetically. “You don’t have to worry about being in trouble; I’ll vouch for you to whatever guard comes by at the end of the lockdown.”

Like he gave two shits about that. “What are you sorry for?” he said gruffly. “You didn’t ask for the power to go out and fuse up the damn generators.”

“No,” she agreed. Then, her eyes widened at a spot by his forehead. “You’re still bleeding! I should take care of that, come on.” She dragged him by his wrist, taking him straight to the infirmary before he could protest. 

x.x 

“So,” she said, eyes fixed on the daub of blood seeping out of his forehead. When she leaned closer to clean the wound, he could smell her fruity lip balm. “What do you think we should do until they lift the lockdown?” 

Ichigo licked his lips dryly. “You’re, uh, healing me,” he muttered. 

Orihime giggled. “That won’t take _six hours_ , silly,” she said, shaking her head as she turned to pick up a ball of cotton between her tweezers. When she saw his stoic expression, she schooled her excitement into a small, understanding smile. “Unless you don’t want to do anything together. That’s okay, too.” 

“I want to!” he insisted, a little too quickly. When she raised her eyes curiously to meet his, he flushed. “It’s just...I don’t know. I usually just take a nap when we’re in a lockdown.”

“Of course,” she said, slapping her forehead. “You must be tired. I can set the bed up for you, if you want?” 

  
“No! That wasn’t what I meant either,” he said quickly, feeling very frustrated with himself for not having an armory of _words_. He could wax poetic and shit-talk guys during a fight for hours, but he couldn’t find a single sentence to summarize this very specific feeling of excitement and guilt-for-feeling-excitement in one breath. He glanced at her and quirked his eyebrow. “Maybe we could just...talk? For a while?”

Talking was safe, right? It wasn’t like he’d developed this stupid _whatever-this-was_ over just _talking_ to her whenever they met.

She beamed agreeably, pulling off her gloves. “I’d love to talk to you!” she said earnestly, and his heart gave out. This was not what he’d bargained for when he crawled down the vent to check-in on her. “Can we take turns and ask each other questions?” 

Ichigo raised his eyebrows but shrugged. “Sure.” They stared at each other for a moment, each waiting on the other. Suddenly, Ichigo’s eyes fell to her lips and he just about decided he was done. “You go first,” he said weakly, averting his gaze.

“Oh, yay!” She threw her hands up in the air, then leaned forward on his armrest in piqued interest, resting her head between her hands. “What’s your favorite bird?”

He snorted. “That’s your first question?” 

“It’s an ice-breaker,” she said, frowning at his amused grin. “You’re supposed to go in with the easy questions first so the other person doesn’t think you’re a weirdo.” 

“I don’t care what other people think,” he pointed out. 

She laughed. “No, you really don’t, Kurosaki-san. But _do_ you have a favorite bird?” 

He thought for a moment, a small frown on his face. “Eagle, I’d say,” he answered, with nonchalance. “What’s yours?” 

Orihime scrunched her nose cutely and brought her arms to her side, like she was a teapot. “Emperor penguin,” she replied proudly, nearly hitting him when she brandished her arms. “They’re the tallest and heaviest among all the penguin species in the Arctic.” 

Ichigo shifted in his bed to face her better. “Why do you know that, Inoue?”

“Well, I didn’t have a lot of friends in college and my brother worked really late so I watched a lot of nature documentaries in my apartment when I couldn’t sleep,” she answered honestly, crossing her arms. She gave him a sheepish grin. “That’s kind of lame, isn’t it?” 

Ichigo shook his head. “I didn’t have a lot of friends in college, either.” 

She seemed surprised by this. “How come?” 

He gave out a short laugh. “I’m not exactly the kind of guy people would like to go out with on a Friday night, Inoue.” 

“I’d _love_ to go out with Kurosaki-san on a Friday night,” she defended, even though her cheeks felt _infused_ with heat at the admission. She stared at her lap. “We’d go to the donut shop and get one of each and then go see the latest Godzilla movie!” 

“That’s...a lot of donuts,” he relented, feeling his stomach squirm tightly at her words. He stared at his hands, not liking the floodlight of visions that entered his brain. How easy it was to picture it, him and her together somewhere, having a nice time. He’d pay for everything, of course. Listen to her ramble about her top ten favorite monsters, ranked. He’d tease her about it, just to see her get defensive and flustered in the way he liked, where her ears would turn pink but her gaze would hold his determinedly, hard-pressed on giving her opinion but willing to keep an open mind when listening to his. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m not making things any easier, am I?” 

He looked up at her, feeling fresh pain in his chest at the way the shine in her eyes dimmed. It would have been easier if she didn’t have it bad for him like he did for her. If she just treated him like she would any patient. But the point here was that she had kissed him back and that was a line drawn in the sand that neither of them knew how to crawl out of very gracefully. 

Ichigo shook his head, fiddled with a stray thread in the sheets. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, not liking how glum his voice sounded. “I doubt you’d be interested in a guy like me outside these walls anyway, Inoue. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that.” 

That was the only way this _thing_ between them made sense, anyway; she was a doctor in prison, spent a lot of hours here. He reckoned any ordinary rock might seem shiny enough if you spent enough time with it. 

The sudden feel of her palm against his cheek made him recoil in surprise. She tugged lightly, making him face her. Underneath the latticework of moonlight, the tears in her eyes seemed shiny. 

“Don’t say that, please,” she whispered. “Not when I’m sitting in front of you like a teenager with hamsters running circles in my belly because I like you _so much_ it hurts.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, the intensity of the air heavy between them. Her touch was light, a ghost of a brush packed with tenderness he hadn’t felt in such a long time. 

“I-I do, too.” Ichigo sighed, overlapped her hand with his for a brief moment before dragging it down. “But you deserve better, Inoue,” he said, feeling honesty surging through his words. “You deserve a guy who can take you out someplace nice every now and then, buy you the shit you like. Uh,” he cleared his scratchy throat. “Settle down with you in a nice, big house in the city.” He squeezed her hand, before pointedly letting go. “I can’t...be that guy for you. Not with where we are right now.” 

_Even if I wanted to,_ he thought, but didn’t say. 

“Is that what you think I want?” Orihime asked quietly, staring at him in disbelief. 

“It’s what I think you _deserve_ ,” he emphasized, avoiding her tearful gaze. 

It wasn't very fair to his heart, either. He could punish himself, play a repeat of every single moment his life had gone down the drain and lead up to this very moment, but he couldn’t give himself _this_ and push it away. _This_ was the final blow, this little moment of peace within his buzzing head. It would break him, and he’d rather be half-starved in her presence than utterly rendered to a shell of a man in her wake. 

She said nothing, even as he continued to pointedly look away from her. Then, she stood up with a sigh and left. 

He thought that was it, that they wouldn’t speak anymore, but to his surprise she returned with pain-relief cream a few moments later. 

“For your forehead,” she explained, softly, lathering up her finger with the whitish-gray ointment. He let her cup his face, rub it in gently in soothing, circular motions. Even over the bliss of his massage, however, he could hear the tiny sniffs that she was holding in. 

He didn’t say anything, just let her finish up and bustle around the office. She rattled the curtains around Ukitake once, made sure he was alright, then circled back to the bed where Ichigo was lying down. 

Through the window, he could still hear the storm going steady, drowning out the sounds from the prison. With the excess of rain, the smell of sea salt had gotten nearly overpowering. A flash of lightning streaked across the horizon, making her flinch. 

It had been a difficult night. More so for her, it occurred to him. 

“Come here,” he said, holding out his arm beside him on the small bed. He swallowed down any hesitation, focused on simply finding a way to comfort her. Give her what she needed until she could fall asleep and feel safe again. 

She stared for a moment, and he wondered if this was the beginning of the end. There was no way something this pure could last without some punishment waiting for him around the corner. That was how these things worked. But when he looked at her, he hoped for once that his ill-fate would skip him.

“I – okay,” she whispered hesitantly, before gingerly clambering onto the bed beside him. There wasn’t a whole lot of space, so their knees bumped and they shifted repeatedly over the mattress until they could find an angle that worked. She sighed, settling her head on his extended arm. “This feels very selfish.” 

He chortled, gently stroking her hair with the palm that cradled her head. He stared up at the ceiling. “Tell me about it.” 

She brought both hands underneath her chin, using his arm as a holding to prop herself up and look at him. “I was really scared tonight,” she admitted with a small smile. “Thank you for saving me.” 

He shook his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he dismissed, craning his head to look at her. “Not for something like that.” 

She laughed, a little sadly. “You have very high standards for me.” 

He snorted, continuing his idle motions through her soft hair. “Of course I do, Inoue,” he said, quiet as a whisper. “It’s you.” 

Orihime propped herself up suddenly, eyes burning at him with a fervent adoration that fixed him in place. “I lived in a box-sized apartment for most of my life and the most expensive thing I own is a second-hand car that I have to hotwire every time it refuses to start,” she blurted, brushing her hair aside to look down and see if he was listening. He was. 

“I’ve had my ups and downs and there were times when I was _really_ sad, but the things that made me happy were the little things. A nice loaf of bread after a tough day at work, watching Laugh Hour, talking to Tatsuki...being with you. I don’t want anything else, Kurosaki-san.” 

Ichigo felt a pool of warmth bloom in his belly. Really, there was only so much earnest admission a guy could take before he made it past the breaking point. And if he was being honest with himself, he’d crossed that point a long time ago. He leaned up at the same time she bent down and the last, fleeting thought in his brain said: _fuck it._

She tugged him eagerly by the shirt, her enthusiasm taking him by surprise when their mouths knocked hard into each other.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into her mouth, ignoring the dull pain against his teeth. 

“Mm,” she responded, as they began to tilt their heads to accommodate each other. The kiss turned gentler after that, more deliberate. Once she could figure out the rhythm they were going for, she opened her mouth to him and sighed happily when his hands fisted her hair behind her head. She gently nipped his bottom lip with her teeth, enjoying the hum of his soft whimper against her mouth. 

“Felt good,” Ichigo admitted in a sheepish whisper, pulling back to look at her. 

Orihime smiled, pretty and bright despite the candy-pinkness of her cheeks. She smoothed down the crinkles of his shirt, one hand trailing up his neck and massaging his ear with her thumb. She turned to the window pensively. When she turned back to him, he was sure his wishful thinking had convinced him into believing there was hope in her eyes.

“It doesn’t look like the storm is going to let up any time soon,” she said idly, watching his eyes close with a contended sigh when her hand released him.

“No,” he agreed, feeling his own voice turn gravelly with anticipation.

He reached forward and gently grabbed her waist, bounced her a little when he pulled her into his lap. He looked up at her, feeling his throat tighten. “Is this okay?” 

She bit her lip. “I don’t know, I might be a little heavy,” she murmured, her concern for him overriding the pleasant shiver along her thigh at the feel of him. 

He squeezed her hip lightly, ignoring the dull ache that rolled when her leg pressed his bruise. “I meant _this,”_ he gestured his chin at where their hips were joined. When he looked back up at her for confirmation, his cheeks were dark. “I don’t want to do anything you might regret.” 

She pecked the corner of his mouth, then the top, then the opposite corner, working up the courage to ask for what she wanted. He let her, hands stalled patiently. 

. 

“Yes,” she confirmed a moment later, blushing at the fact. 

He nodded, letting the hand that was on her hip continue its trail under her shirt and up her spine, the other coming around her waist to hold her steady. He snaked one thumb over-and-under the rough fabric of her waistband, stroking her puffed stretch marks, the cushy curve of her belly. 

“ _Oh,_ ” she hummed, when his thumb seemed to graze a particular sweet spot on her lower back. He went over it again, except this time, he flattened his entire palm on her soft skin and gently pushed her. 

Orihime must not have been anticipating it, because she landed clumsily on his chest with an _‘oof!’_. When she raised her head to look at him, she giggled softly. “Sorry.” 

Ichigo smiled, then tugged her back for a kiss. He curved one hand around her neck, holding her there while his lips tried their brush hers smoothly. It was hard, considering just how much he wanted her, but he let the passion build slowly, enjoying the way her mouth came down on his, tongue flicking his lightly. He let his fingertips skim up her waist, her ribs, the sides of her breasts, loving the way her muscles shifted to his touch. Eventually, his travelling hand found hers and he pulled it to touch his face. 

“You’re so pretty,” she praised, cupping his cheek fondly. His chest hitched, the sheer purity in her gaze enough to overwhelm the wrongness of this moment.

He shook his head, the throb in his heart pushing him to spread firm kisses over her neck and collarbone while he massaged her all over with his large hands. He knew he wasn’t particularly skilful with his hands – nor experienced greatly with sex – but he wanted her to feel _good_. Pleasured. 

So he flipped her on her back and went down on her. 

“Kurosaki-san,” she gasped, hand wildly reaching out to grab his head. He didn’t know if she was liking this very much or not, but her firm grip and her soft, shy moans were encouraging. He pressed his tongue flat against her, hoping this rhythm he was trying to build was yielding its intended effect. 

“ _Ichigo_.”

He grinned, feeling his confidence build. He spread her legs apart even more, consciously making an effort not to tease her about the kitten-print panties that he fully dragged down her legs. This was supposed to be tender, not playful. This was about _her_.

He gripped her thigh as gently as he could, ready to delve deeper when she stopped him.

“I’m almost there,” she whispered, face sweaty and flushed. 

He raised his eyebrows as if to say _‘that’s the point.’_ He suddenly registered how hard he was with vague embarrassment. It had never been this easy before, but it had never been with _her_ either so he supposed that might have a thing or two to do with how heated he felt. 

Orihime propped herself up on her elbows, one hand trying to push his damp chin up higher. “Can we...together?” she asked, shrinking under his surprised gaze. 

His heart gave out an odd stutter, not wanting her to feel obligated in any way to give herself to him. When he looked into her eyes, however – at how sweetly dazed they were – he knew he could never deny her. “You sure?” he asked, nonetheless, pressing a kiss to her thigh. “I don’t mind if you finish.” 

“I want to finish with you,” she confessed shyly, pulling him up to her level. “You’re not even out of your pants yet.” 

Well, he couldn't exactly disagree. 

She released him, letting him stand so he could shuck his clothes off. He fumbled with his shirt, watching her do the same out of the corner of his eyes. She lifted it over her head, tossing it in the heap of her other clothes by the floor. One hand reached into the bedside drawer, eyes twinkling with mirth as she withdrew a shiny, foiled packet. 

Ichigo scoffed, averting his gaze respectfully when she arched forward to tug her bra off – like that was supposed to soften how fiercely right he felt despite how wrong this was.

He heard the cloth fall over somewhere. When he came over to brush her cheek with his finger, her hand went to his waistband. She lifted her gaze to meet his. “May I?”

He would have laughed at how polite Orihime was if he wasn’t feeling a little insecure over how _beautiful_ she looked, how being with her felt like a heaven that he didn’t deserve. He was quickly snapped out of it by a gentle kiss she pressed to his hip bone, her fingers skimming up his abdomen and his chest. When her eyes met his, there was something bright and loving there that knocked the wind out of him. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, before completely taking off his pants and getting on top of her. 

“It’s not too late to want to stop,” he reminded her, his forehead knocking hers as they stared at each other. 

“Don’t,” she whispered back, her breaths coming out in quick puffs as she held his head to her shoulder, rolled her eyes back to aimlessly look at the ceiling when his hips came down to hers.

And really, Ichigo could close his eyes and pretend they were somewhere decent, somewhere romantic like a fancy hotel or a cruise or even a half-decent bed, but he didn't want to. Here with Orihime, skin-pressing-skin everywhere, he wanted this reality to burn him. The smell of brine, the scratchy linen below their sweaty bodies, this, her – all of it. He wanted the memory preserved and etched right into his bones, not a single detail obscured. 

As he felt his muscles ache and burn, a lone tear trailed down his watery eyes. “ _Orihime_ ,” he pleaded, almost unrecognizable to himself, unsure of what he was asking _for_. 

Orihime clutched the back of his neck, pulled his ear closer to her trembling mouth. “I love you,” she cried out in a broken sob. 

Ichigo’s heart stopped. 

He felt himself coming instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy this was a _chapter_. Someone please pat me on the head and say I didn’t do a terrible job.


	11. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo, Chad and Uryu all have some explaining to do.

Clean-up was always a sluggish and out-of-sorts ballgame. Orihime’s muscles felt watery, eyes tired as she watched Ichigo amble around the bed heavily to reach the waste basket. She should have been tugging her own clothes back on, but she just watched him, enjoying the gleaming lines of sweat on his body, where her hands had been.

When he shifted in place to come back to her, he kissed her forehead. “Sorry,” he said, brushing her hair out of her face. “It’s been awhile.”

Orihime smiled and shook her head. “For me too.”

He nodded, then settled on his elbow to watch her. “You okay? I didn’t take advantage of you, did I?”

She shook her head, reaching out to hold his hand. He readily gave it to her, squeezing her fingers when they joined. She felt a sudden surge of emotion for some reason, both too much and not enough. She was exhausted and overwhelmed, but also at peace with where she was, the moment stretching on for several moments before she realized he’d asked her a question. 

“No,” she murmured in reply, tucking her head under his chin so he couldn’t see her. “I wanted it, too.”

She felt him taking a deep breath, her head going up and down with his ribs. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked gently, running his finger down her spine. 

She flushed scarlet, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “We just violated three imperative codes of the _Prison Manual of Conduct_.”

Ichigo chuckled, bringing his hand back up to rub her shoulders and her back. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Orihime swatted him, unable to stop a small laugh of her own. “Stop, I was trying to be serious,” she whined, frowning when he grinned some more.

He sobered up, tracing her lower lip with one finger. “Sorry,” he said genuinely. “Do you, uh, regret it, then?” He tried to sound casual about it, not too bitter, because this was her job on the line after all and she was allowed to have mixed feelings about it.

“Of course not,” she replied, but didn’t add anything else. He tightened his hold on her, settling back against the bed with relief. In this half-slumber state, he knew all the sharpness of his guilt and hurt had softened into something floating vaguely at the back of his mind.

Ichigo had resorted himself to her silence after that, just listening to the quiet sounds of her breathing as he held her. Dawn was drawing closer, so he knew it was risky for one of them to fall asleep and have a guard walk in on them like this. He stroked her back, walking his fingers over every dip and groove of her skin that the morning light touched. 

Then, he reluctantly let her go in favor of putting his clothes back on. She stirred once, but only to hug the pillow in his wake.

Ichigo walked over to the window, staring out at the misty courtyard. He washed his face and his hands at the sink, the grease long washed away by sweat, but still grainy on his body. The cool jet of water was relieving on his tired eyes. He wiped himself down, avoided looking at himself in the mirror because he knew his hair would be messier than usual and that, while he knew he wasn’t particularly ugly, he didn’t hold himself in as high a regard as Orihime did.

When he returned, he was surprised to see Orihime blinking her eyes open slowly. She had already slipped her pants back on, but seemed to be looking for her shirt.

“Ichigo?” she called softly, her head lifting with the rest of her body as she began sitting up. She yawned cutely, then blinked the sleep out of her eyes to look at him. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Ichigo paused from where he was picking her shirt up, a dull white noise starting to build in his ears. His heart seemed to pick up pace, rattling shakily against his chest. ‘ _Boom, boom, boom’_ it puffed faintly, letting him know the moment had arrived and not a minute too soon. 

He sighed and came back to sit next to her.

"I know what you want to ask," he said, voice carefully neutral. "You want to know if I did it." 

At the surprised 'O' in her lips, he felt his stomach sink in confirmation. 

"It's what everyone wants to know," he answered, to her surprised expression, with a shrug. He gave her the shirt.

"I'm not a nosy person by nature," she started slowly, wriggling it on. “Curious, maybe, but never nosy. I wasn't going to ask you about it at all, but there have been things I noticed, _signs_ that tell me to reach out to you." She reached for his hand. "Call it my womanly intuition, or my expertise as a doctor, or even my status as your…," she stopped herself abruptly, hurrying on before either of them could contemplate what she was about to say. "I have this _feeling_ that you need a listening ear. And I'm willing to be that person, if you let me."

Ichigo sighed, playing with the fray of her sheets. “I don't know." 

"You’re not going to be in any trouble, I promise," she replied patiently, knowing he was building up to what he actually wanted to say. She glanced at the clock. "We've got about fifteen uninterrupted minutes where you can tell me anything and I'm legally obligated to not let it leave the room!" 

He scoffed, knowing there was _plenty_ that couldn’t leave this room without either of them being in deep shit. The cheer in her voice loosened him up, though. He stared at his knee. Then, he swallowed dryly and confessed,

"I didn't do it." 

Orihime sucked in a breath of air, feeling it go in a swift inhale. 

Ichigo looked up at her, trying to gauge whether or not she believed him. The rest of this story depended monumentally on the fact. When she didn't call bullshit or ask questions-- only looked surprised-- he figured she did. That she didn't mind giving the value of honesty to a con's words. 

And that gave him faith to push on with his story. 

"Summer of senior year, my dad wanted me to move to another city for college. Become independent, become a man -- shit like that," he explained, watching his hands. "It was pretty obvious at that point that I was a big momma's boy, right from the day I was born."

They both pretended his voice didn’t crack, for the sake of his modesty.

"So, naturally, when I moved to Tokyo to get my English Literature degree, I missed her. A lot," he said, watching Orihime's eyes stay curiously kind as he meandered and croaked through his story. "I missed all of my family, obviously, but I missed her the most. I lived almost twenty years with her and I'd never not had her by my side. So I got a little, ah, depressed. Moody. I picked fights a lot, went out of my way to get into trouble. I was a complete asshole." 

"You missed home," Orihime said softly. "You were acting out." 

"I guess," he said, rubbing his eye. "Anyway, a couple of run-ins with the law and school ended up calling my parents. My dad didn’t think it was a big deal but my mom was upset that I never...told her what was going on. Said I should've called more." 

“So she decided she would come down for a weekend to spend time with me. Just us. See the movies, grab dinner together." His voice suddenly became tight. 

Orihime reached forward and tentatively took his hand in hers. He squeezed. She squeezed back. 

"It's okay," she whispered.

He nodded, blinking back the warm tears that began to form as his head hung low. 

"We were walking back from dinner together, down this alley. Mom was feeling a little woozy after the wine so I decided to take this risky, but short route that cut back to her hotel. This guy," Ichigo choked suddenly, then cleared his throat. "This guy popped out of nowhere, coming up right in front of us. I think he was under the influence, too, because he was barely able to stand on his own feet. He was screaming something incomprehensible about his ex-wife, making these weird hand gestures. My mom offered our help to him and something within him must have snapped, because he pulled out a gun." 

This time, Orihime did gasp. But Ichigo was so caught up in the momentum of the story, he didn't stop. 

"I was too slow, because the next thing I knew, my mom jumped in front of me, taking the bullet that was probably meant for me." He sniffed. "I lay there frozen as her dead body bled on top of me, Orihime. Paralysed." 

"Ichigo," she whispered frightfully, feeling something sick gnaw its way to her gut. "Surely the murder weapon--" 

"-- was never found. Prosecution claimed I made the guy up. What got me convicted was a witness from one of the overhead apartments who saw me leave the scene. She changed her statement a lot, but eventually, when she said she saw me shoot the bullet, I was convicted. The fact that cops found me desperately scrubbing my mother’s blood off my clothes didn’t make things easier.” 

“ _Ichigo_ ,” Orihime cried, looping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him into a sideways hug. She held him tight, despite her own body trembling violently with tears and pain for him. For how scared he must have been when his life changed overnight. He rested his head in between her collarbones, closing his eyes. “What about the lawyer you met? Have you told her this?” 

He slowly retreated from her hug, shaking his head. 

Orihime's mouth fell open, clearly stunned. "I don't understand--" 

"I might not have killed my mother, Orihime," Ichigo said roughly, "but I sure as hell didn't protect her either." 

Orihime’s hands slackened. She should have been surprised -- beside herself, really -- but if she was being honest with herself, she should have seen it coming. He was young when he was incarcerated, no doubt pressured and bullied by a justice system waiting to wrap things up quickly. And knowing how he was, it seemed obvious that he would burden himself with the guilt of something that _wasn’t even his fault._

“It should have been me,” he admitted quietly, defeated. 

“Don’t say that,” she said, wanting to reach out to him but not knowing if he would be reticent to share anything after this. 

Luckily for her, he noticed; he took her hand in his, gently rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. “I don’t want this to change things between us,” he confessed, looking her straight in the eye. The intensity in his eyes sent a jolt down her stomach. “I didn’t tell you this because I want you to help me or feel bad for me, so _please_ , Orihime, don’t try to help me.” 

“Ichigo, I --” 

He pulled her into a hug, pushing her head against his chest. “Promise me,” he muttered into her hair. “I know it was hard to hear, but I want you to promise me.” 

Orihime blinked back her tears. She didn’t want to, it was against her very nature, but she knew it had taken a lot to get him to open up to her and she didn’t want to abuse that. “Okay,” she sniffled. “I promise.” She looked up at him, pulling his head down so he could see her. “I won’t interfere. But that doesn’t mean I think you deserve what you’re doing to yourself either.” She kissed his jaw. “You don’t deserve _any_ of this.”

He didn’t say anything, pulling her back against him so he could bask in the little unsupervised time he had left with her. 

x.x

It was a little while later when some guard dropped by to take Ichigo and any other stragglers back to gen-pop. He didn’t seem too bothered that, apart from Ukitake, Ichigo had been the only inmate in the infirmary. Orihime had vouched for him, nonetheless, telling the guard that he had been lost and she let him stay until the riot simmered down. 

All around his wing, there was a mess. Paper thrown around, mud tracked in, the unapologetic looks on the faces of the now barricaded inmates. Things seemed to have taken quite the chaotic turn in gen-pop, and judging by the nettled faces of the janitors and guards, he suspected the inmates would pay for this in the weeks to come with a cutdown on rec time. Kenpachi glowered at him from behind his own cell, looking woozy from the injection Orihime must have given him. On the opposite bend of the corridor, Grimmjow seemed incensed as well.

When Ichigo thanked the guard and walked into his cell, Chad and Ishida immediately stood up. 

“Yo,” he grumbled, plummeting straight to his bed with a groan. Never before had he been relieved to see it. In the last 24 hours, he’d gotten maybe only the 15 minutes of sleep that Orihime had wrangled him into taking on her lap, shortly before the guard arrived. He was sore all over. 

“Well?” Ishida demanded, from somewhere behind him. “Is the doctor alright?” 

Ichigo smiled a half-goofy smile that was covered up by his pillow. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, eyes heavily dragging down with sleep. 

He vaguely heard Ishida ‘tsk’ in the background, but he didn’t care. He was still blissed out, raw from the vulnerability of being seen and heard and _felt_ by the woman he loved. If he slept right now, he knew he wouldn’t wake up until Chad roused him for dinner time. 

Suddenly he shot up in bed, alarming both his cellmates. They took a step back as he stood up. 

“You,” Ichigo growled, getting up to yank Ishida by the collar and drag him to the toilet. He rattled Ishida back and forth with one hand, used the other to point to the bowl. “Explain this.” 

Ishida visibly gulped. 


	12. The Road So Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a little more than planning to break out of prison - ask Ishida Uryu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Uryu! Though he isn't strictly the protagonist of this story, he's definitely the protagonist of this chapter so I find it apt that I post this during his birthday lmao

The year was 1992. 

Ishida Uryu had just finished a dreadfully dull discussion with his father, preceded only by a dreadfully dull day at college and oh -- a dull test that he’d only naturally topped the class on. 

It was almost as if Ryuken Ishida could sense his dissatisfaction -- and revelled in it. 

A career in architecture had never been at the forefront of Uryu's mind. Medicine was the honored profession in his lineage, passed over from generation to generation like a carefully preserved artefact. A legacy that kept the Ishida line revered and pristine. This legacy was what won his father accolades, promoted him to Director General at Tokyo’s most distinguished hospital, and kept him in the good books of nameless aunts and uncles that drew ire at the slightest soil to the family name. 

Uryu hated his family name. It had gone down, in his eyes, with the death of his dearest grandfather -- redeemed not in the slightest by his father. And if anything, Uryu  _ hated  _ his father. 

So, architecture. It had not the prestige or passion a career in medicine held for him, but it bore barebone resemblance. There was something frighteningly similar, the way you could put together and pull apart a structure -- observe with clinical precision -- the way you could a body. 

And perhaps Uryu just wanted to piss off his father. 

He ducked around a corridor, lifting his phone to his ear. “Status?” he whispered. 

  
  


“The first batch of ocipro just went up,” his informant said, in an excited hush. “Your money is crazy, man! The site is like, professional-quality. All my years in this business and I’ve never seen the market run crispy clean like this. Never seen such a demand for _ lung cancer medication _ either.”

Uryu smirked. His father’s money was efficient, yes, but there was hardly anything clean about it. The current administration had all but reversed the last’s policy on pharmaceutical price-cuts; the cost of generally affordable medication that the good people of his country were entitled to, was now sky-rocketing. He was just doing his national duty -- right out of the pocket of his unsuspecting father. 

“Put up the second batch as well,” he ordered. “Show the people where their good faith is going.” 

There was a pause on the other end. “Eh, Ishida, I dunno man,” his informant said hesitantly. “I say we lay low for a while, stay out of the authorities’ eyes until news of the first batch blows over.” 

Uryu rolled his eyes. “Put up the second batch. The day the  _ ‘authorities’  _ gain an edge over my enterprise is the day I’ll sign my karmic debt in full.” 

There was a resounding crash somewhere north of the hospital wing. 

“ _ Inoue _ ,” he heard his father barking. “I did not take you under my wing so you could  _ plod  _ and  _ meander  _ around expensive machinery meant for the patients! Either develop a spring in your step or find your replacement by the end of the day.” 

“Yes, sir, Dr.Ishida, sir!” the poor, young intern wailed, and then there were frantic footsteps following the deliberate ones of his father. 

“I have to go,” Uryu spoke into his phone. “Call me when we’re live.” 

He hung up and rounded the corner, exiting the hospital without sparing them a second glance. 

  
  


x.x

  
  
  


“All you have to do is drive, Sado,” Keigo was saying, trying to keep up with Chad’s long stride. “Pop in there, wait for my guy to make the drop-off, then drive back. In-and-out, easy does it. You’ll be back home in time for Carnivore Kingdom!!” 

Chad huffed, with a small frown. “I don’t know, Keigo.” He didn’t particularly like making a habit out of running jobs for Keigo and Mizuro but money was tight and Abuelo…

As if reading Chad’s mind, Keigo’s eyes softened. “He’s getting worse, isn’t he?” he said, showing a rare moment of maturity and insight. “How’s the treatment going?” 

“Not good,” Chad admitted with a reluctant sigh. He turned to Keigo grimly. “How much are these guys paying?” 

Keigo brightened. “It’s a sweet deal, Sado! They’re naming 1,000 yen for the drop-off but my guy said they might be willing to negotiate if the job goes smoothly. Whadya say?” 

Chad didn’t  _ say  _ anything, just stared at his hands. Keigo waited. 

“This is the last time,” he warned, finally. 

“Last time, yes!” Keigo whooped, putting one hand up victoriously in the air. “I’m telling Mizuro you’re in! He’ll send you a text with the drop-off deets,” he rambled, already fishing for his phone. “You’re gonna be so thankful when this thing pulls through, Sado. It’s a lucrative deal, you know, this business…” 

Chad tuned him out, feeling a pang of guilt in his heart. 

He only hoped his efforts would go towards taking care of Abuelo’s treatment. 

  
  


x.x

  
  


The year was 1992. 

  
  


Kurosaki Ichigo was on the phone, booking a return train ticket from Tokyo. His mother was coming down for the weekend. 

  
  


x.x

  
  
  


Four years later, in cell #42, three boys stared at each other. 

  
  


“We’re breaking out,” Ishida confessed. “Me, you, and Sado-kun.” 

  
  


“Yeah, no shit, Ishida,” Ichigo scoffed. “I didn’t think you were plumbing a stairway to heaven down there.” 

  
  


“Ichigo,” Chad interrupted, looking the grimmest Ichigo had ever seen him. On closer inspection, Ichigo saw bags under his eyes. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before, but he did now and it concerned him. “Abuelo’s test results came back. They’ve given him two months.” 

Ichigo suddenly paled, his throat going very dry. “Chad --  _ what? _ ” he asked, looking back and forth between Ishida and Chad. “I thought he was in remission.” 

“His cancer’s progressed while Sado-kun’s been gone,” Uryu explained, crossing his arms. “I used the last of my pull to get him to Tokyo General, but --” 

“-- he’s dying, Ichigo,” Chad finished, eyes turned to his feet in sorrow. “There’s nothing they can do.” 

Ichigo felt himself sink down onto the bed. The last of any feeling in his legs evaporated at Chad's confession. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked weakly, feeling both parts hurt for Chad and betrayed that his best friend didn’t trust him with something like this. 

“You had been attacked,” Chad answered, setting one palm on Ichigo’s shoulder. “We...didn’t want to worry you more.” He paused in contemplation, then added softly, “You thought you deserved to be here.”

  
  


“We didn’t think you would be...agreeable,” Ishida added, with a frown. “Besides, er, Sado-kun?” He pinked suddenly, turning away from both boys in embarrassment. Ichigo raised his eyebrows. 

  
  


“Abuelo’s last wish is to see me get married, Ichigo,” Chad spelled out, crossing his arms. “I...can’t deny him. I want us to be with him in his last moments.” 

  
  


Ichigo closed his eyes, rested his forehead on his locked hands. No one said anything, but Ishida and Chad watched him carefully. 

  
  


“The rumors of an _ ‘Urahara’s Cross’ _ existing within these four walls are true,” Ishida began, when a long silence had passed without anyone saying anything. “Grimmjow and his men seem to think it’s below B-Wing, where the largest water pipe in the penitentiary connects to the prison’s sewer system. That’s why he was desperate enough to offer you a P.I job in exchange for your silence. The only way for him to avoid his death sentence is riding on this rumored pass. He’s unwilling to let B-Wing go because he seems to think that’s where the Cross is.” 

  
  


“But let me guess,” Ichigo said dryly. “You know where it  _ really  _ is.”

  
  


“I do,” Ishida said simply. “It’s a path leading out of the doctor’s office.” 

  
  


Ichigo blinked. Then, he slowly connected the dots. “That’s why you --” 

“--encouraged you to pick clinic hours for P.I, yes,” Ishida said, slowly edging behind Chad as Ichigo’s eyebrows began to draw together. “I needed you there as a placeholder until the time came, so that none of the other inmates would gain access.” 

“So,” Ichigo took a deep breath. The look on his face was near livid. “If this thing pulls through, and Orihime gets questioned, there’s a chance she could lose her job.” He looked to Ishida, eyebrows narrowed. 

Chad closed his eyes, pained. Ichigo felt torn between appeasing him and living with the guilt in his heart if she lost everything because of him. After she’d given  _ him  _ everything and then some.

Ishida frowned lightly. “Not...necessarily. The farther you keep her from our plans, the safer she should be. But obviously lying to her is going to be a bone of contention in your relationship -- if we can call it that,” he mused, then seeing Ichigo’s disdain, he grimaced. “None of us anticipated that you would  _ fall in love _ with her, this is not something I have a contingency for --” 

Chad coughed, jerking his head to show Ishida how Ichigo’s shoulders had begun hunching together rapidly at his words. 

“Right,” Ishida carried on quickly. “But no harm, no foul. I highly doubt the doctor herself is aware of the goldmine she sits on, so there’s no fear of her getting in trouble. Besides, she is young and gifted. I am almost certain that  _ if  _ she loses her job -- which she most likely will not -- she will find another, well-paying one.” He stared at Ichigo, a little displeased. “I’m not an animal, Kurosaki.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ichigo muttered, turning away from both of them so he could rest his arms on the top bunk. Then, he straightened. “This Cross, they say no one’s been able to find it for  _ years _ . But somehow, among the 150 inmates here, you lucked out?” 

Ishida made a face. He didn’t like attributing skill or deduction to luck, but a certain amount of that  _ had _ come in handy, much to his chagrin. “I didn’t  _ ‘luck out _ ’,” he said, nonetheless. “The night Abuelo’s test results returned, I couldn’t sleep. So I listened. I listened until I could hear the waters.” 

“You could hear the waters,” Ichigo repeated skeptically, glancing at Chad with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes, Kurosaki, I could hear the waters,” Ishida snapped impatiently. “Have you ever thought about how the doctor’s office is the one place in this entire penitentiary that smells like an ocean? The brine is spread so thick there, I was surprised no one had come to this conclusion prior to myself.” 

“Wasn’t really focused on the brine when I was in there,” Ichigo muttered. Chad grinned knowingly, patting him on his shoulder.

Ishida ignored them. “I listened for the sounds and determined that sometimes, in the night, we can hear  _ the ocean _ from our cell. That was odd, considering the thickness of these walls don’t really allow us to usually hear it that well, even in the courtyard,” he explained. “Which  _ had  _ to mean there was a hollow, carved out connection between the ocean and the cells that allowed  _ sound  _ to travel through.” 

He made a tunnel motion with his hands, looking slightly like a madman. Ichigo wondered if he had slept at all since last night. If this was why he was condemning Ichigo to sleeplessness as well. 

“I had Sado-kun make Keigo fetch the penitentiary’s blueprints for me during visitation,” he continued. “What I saw there didn’t make sense. Logically, where there was supposed to be a pipe or even a tunnel of sorts, there was a dead end. A mighty wall of concrete.”

“Right,” Ichigo replied, cradling his head in his hands and feeling faint with the lack of sleep. He motioned for Ishida to hurry up. 

“So, I borrowed Urahara-san’s autobiography from the library,” he said, pacing around the room in frantic motions. “Figured if there was anything hinting at what I had discovered, it had to be in there. Architects love hallowing their own creations. I suppose that feeling must have increased tenfold if you were a fairly underground genius who had been hired for his first big project -- the groundwork for a penitentiary.” 

“Chad, make him stop,” Ichigo pleaded, from where his head was buried. Words were starting to sound very much like not-words now, and he was too in shock to process anything. 

“Listen to him, Ichigo,” Chad said, leaning against the bed. 

“To my disappointment, there was nothing overtly incriminating in there at first,” Ishida explained, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Then, I read an excerpt -- a tiny paragraph hidden in pages and pages worth of drab history, really, that said some of the tunnels and pipes behind these walls were initially made of lead. When the Prison Sanitation Bureau deemed the lead to be injurious to inmates' health, however, they replaced it with plastic and covered up the  _ old  _ tunnel entrances with concrete.”

“So the tunnel I slipped into last night,” Ichigo said slowly, examining the scratches and bruises on his hands with disgust. “That was an old one?” 

“Hmm,” Chad replied, feeling proud of Ichigo for cottoning on quickly, even in his state. 

“It’s prison protocol to keep a record of all blueprints so guards and plumbing staff could keep track of changes done to the place.” Ishida knocked his fist against the wall. “But Urahara-san must have liked to trifle with people because every time a new blueprint was drafted, he destroyed the previous one. It became impossible to keep a comprehensive record of the exact structure of the penitentiary -- and rumors of the Urahara’s Cross were born.”

“That’s great, Ishida,” Ichigo drawled. “Fucking fantastic, really. But I’ve been in the doctor’s office and there isn’t any path in there except for the vent I took to get there.” 

“That’s because,” Ishida gave a dramatic pause. “The path is _ the water.” _

Ichigo blinked, looking to Chad for confirmation. The latter, too, however, seemed equally confused. 

Ishida decided to spell it out for them. 

  
  


“To escape the penitentiary, we have to get to the doctor’s office through the vents, yes. But that’s only the checkpoint,” he explained, smirking slightly at his friends’ confused expressions. He turned over his heel. “If we want to break out for good, we have to swim the rest of the way.  _ The path that waltzes a strait of water _ is assumed to be a bridge -- that’s incorrect. The  _ water  _ is the path, the Cross is the crossroads where Dr. Inoue’s office sits. We want to escape, we break the pipe and swim east.” 

“Oh fuck this,” Ichigo muttered, slumping backwards on the bed heavily. He craned his head to look at them. "What were you going to do? Drag me by the collar the night of your grand escape? Throw me in the water and say  _ ‘Swim for your life, Ichigo, we’re breaking out’ _ ?”

"If you refused," Chad replied blankly. Ichigo couldn't tell if he was serious or not. 

"I was considering leaving you behind to wallow, Kurosaki," Ishida stated grandly, nose upturned in the air. "But I came to the conclusion that our rivalry has yet to reach a stalemate and perhaps Sado-kun would be miserable in your absence, so consider this a gift." 

Ichigo read the underlying message beneath his words and gave them each a dry, half-smile. 

_ "You don't deserve any of this," _ he heard Orihime's voice insist in his head. At the thought of her, his smile fell into a frown. What would she think of this? If they went through with it, could he say goodbye? He obviously couldn’t tell her he was breaking out, not without putting her at a metaphorical crossroads, as Ishida said. 

He suddenly felt anxious. He didn’t  _ want  _ to say goodbye, not after they’d just gotten together, but the reasons pushing him to go -- Abuelo’s health, his own innocence, the possibility of freedom -- they were too pertinent to ignore. He felt a headache begin to throb at his skull. 

"So?" Ishida demanded, crossing his arms. 

Ichigo stood up with a sigh. For a long time, he simply stared out of the cell, eyebrows creased. He’d allowed himself to wallow, these last few years. Brick himself in and grieve at his own failure to keep his promises. And Chad and Ishida had been nothing but patient with him, allowing him to be just the way he was with only minor complaining. But the clock was ticking now, the time to wallow rapidly running out. 

"I’m in on one condition,” he said finally, with a sigh. 

"What?" Chad asked. 

"We leave Orihime out of this," Ichigo said firmly, daring either of his friends to challenge him. “Minimum casualties.  _ No  _ casualties if it involves her.” 

If they could somehow pull this off without her getting into trouble, there could be a glimmering chance that they could see each other --  _ properly _ \-- outside these walls someday. When it all blew over. Ichigo didn't allow the hope to float very high, but he didn't actively try to squash it either. It was a dangerous thought, a selfish one -- but his luck hadn’t run out so far and he was wondering if it really would be a bad idea to push it. 

Ishida frowned. “I cannot make promises, but  _ we will try,” _ he emphasized quickly, at Ichigo’s deepening scowl. “ _ We will try _ , Kurosaki.”

Ichigo shook his head, then threw himself back into bed.

  
  


x.x

  
  


Some time in the middle of the night, he gingerly woke up. The familiar sounds of the prison -- Chad’s deep snores, the click of the night guard’s boots, the murmurs of other inmates -- all drowned into a drowsy chatter. If he strained his ears, he could faintly hear the ocean, like Ishida had said. It was soft, so distant that Ichigo wondered how sleepless -- or how desperate -- Ishida must have been that night to hear it. 

Speaking of, Ishida’s bed was empty. 

When Ichigo blinked blearily around the darkness of his cell, he saw Ishida standing at the cell door, hands in his pockets as he stared outside the cell unseeingly. 

Ichigo sighed, groggily standing up. Above his own bunk, Chad was still deeply asleep.

He came up and stood beside Ishida. For a moment, neither of them spoke, eyes following the night guard making his rounds. Ichigo observed Ishida's pale face, the bags under his eyes with a frown. “You know,” he started, “if we get caught, that’s a dime on each of our sentences.” 

Ishida didn’t react, but the downturn of his mouth let Ichigo know he was listening. “If we don’t make a move, it’s still a decade Abuelo doesn’t have,” he replied coolly. He narrowed his eyes at Ichigo. “I was surprised you agreed to this easily. The last we talked about it, it seemed like your intentions were to finish your sentence.” 

Ishida had called him an idiot for that, back then. It was a time when they still didn’t understand each other well, hating each other's guts, taking out their own anxieties and insecurities on each other. Though they still stubbornly clung to those old habits, the heat of it had sizzled out with their time in prison. And now with their eventual escape...

Ichigo looked away, shoving his hands in his own pockets. “Maybe I changed my mind,” he muttered. 

Ishida crossed his arms. “If this has something to do with the doctor,” he said hesitantly. “I’d ask you to do away with fantasies of reuniting with her once we’re outside these walls. Any such behavior would only put both of you at risk -- especially her.” Ishida regarded him out of the corner of his eyes, his glasses glinting in the low light. “If you  _ do  _ tell her, it’ll incriminate her as an accomplice in the fallout of our escape.” 

Ichigo clenched his jaw. “Focus on getting us out of here,” he said quietly, ignoring Ishida’s other words. “I’ll handle my business on my own.” 

He stormed away, leaving Ishida to continue mulling over his thoughts by himself. 


	13. The Other Shoe Drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuchiki Byakuya makes a 10-second cameo, Orihime Inoue learns that there are consequences to her actions -- especially if those actions involve falling in love with an inmate.

  


  


Kuchiki Byakuya was not impressed, to say the least.

  


  


_“The discordance and misconduct among the inmate population last night reflects our own incompetence in handling a…”_

  


  


Orihime let his voice drone out, shooting Renji – who was standing behind his shoulder – a sympathetic look. The higher-ups had not reacted well to the riot, even if it was an electrical problem and not the incompetence of the staff that had led them here. 

  


  


If you asked Orihime, the staff had worked just fine. Perfectly, even. Renji had doubled down on any and all inmates, rounded up the security, and handled the situation without a single death on their hands. That was a win, in her book, but Kuchiki Byakuya did not seem to be the type to settle on matters related to security. 

  


  


When the staff meeting came to an end, Orihime met Renji at the snack table. 

  


  


“Coffee?” he asked, lifting the pot he was using to fill his own cup. His forehead and arm were wrapped in bandages, but compared to the other guards, he seemed relatively alright – spare the bags under his eyes.

  


  


“I’ve got it, thank you,” she beamed, waiting patiently for him to take his fill. She leaned against the table and regarded the crowd. “That meeting was rough. I don’t know how your brother-in-law could be so mad when you did the best you could to handle the situation!” 

  


  


Renji chuckled, passing over the coffee pot before mimicking her position against the table. “If you thought that was him being mad, you should see him when we have anti-death penalty protestors come out. All things considered, that was him being _ecstatic_ ,” he said, giving Orihime a slight grin when she frowned. “He’s got to be tough, it’s his job.” 

  


  


Orihime smiled, pouring over her own steaming coffee into a little cup. “I’m just saying, Abarai-san, he should give you credit where it’s due. It was scary last night.” 

  


  


“Meh, everyone stepped up to the job and followed lockdown procedures, ‘s not just me,” he said modestly, with a shrug. “Speaking of, I heard from Shirogane that Kurosaki was in the infirmary with ya the whole six hours– ”

  


  


Orihime tried her hardest not to wince when a little stream of hot coffee trickled over her finger. 

  


  


“– he didn’t get himself into any trouble, did he?” 

  


Renji’s tone was curious, but Orihime’s heart picked up a rapid pace nonetheless. She shakily pushed the coffee pot away, ears burning at just how fast word got around the penitentiary. When she turned to Renji, however, she shook her head and smiled. “No, he got caught up in the crowd so I gave him shelter in the clinic until the riot died down.” 

  


  


That _was_ the truth, anyway. Part of it. She only hoped Renji wouldn’t ask her _what_ they did during that time, because she was a terrible liar and she really didn’t like lying to her friends in the first place. The faint sting of lovebites on her thighs served as a little reminder, ebbing away with the memories of what it was like to be with Ichigo when everyone was looking the other way.

  


  


“That’s nice of you,” Renji was saying noncommittally, but Orihime couldn’t help but feel like there was a brief, questioning flicker in his eyes. It passed just as quickly as it arrived, however, and his features loosened up again. “Either way, you passed your first real riot. You’re a big girl now, by prison standards.” She giggled. He straightened up and made space for her as they walked out of the meeting office. “Rukia was saying we should have you over for dinner or something this weekend. How’s that sound? I make a mean _tataki_.”

  


  


She brightened immediately, then felt the slow crawl of guilt in her belly. Renji had been so nice to her the entire time she was here...a small part of her felt cruel for lying to him like she did. It wasn’t like she _could_ tell him the truth, but a part of her wished she could. 

  


  


“I’d love to, Abarai-san,” she replied softly. 

  


  


He grinned. “We don’t mind if you bring a date y’know,” he said. “Rukia was on my ass for not setting you up with any of my so-called gazillion friends yet, but I told her I didn’t want to scare you away.” 

  


  


Orihime smiled, but felt her heart clench with this unnamable yearning. Enjoying dinner with her co-worker’s family, deciding on things to take as a gift, laughing over dinner time conversation – these were things she would love to enjoy, even more so with Ichigo as her date, and the fact that he _chose_ to be here when they could have had all that made the ache worse. 

  


  


She shook her head as soon as the thought arrived, feeling ashamed at her selfishness. Ichigo was an honorable man with his own moral code; even if she didn’t like it, she understood it and it was selfish of her to want him to throw all that away just so they could be together. Deciding this, she regarded Renji firmly. 

  


  


“Thank you for inviting me, Abarai-san,” she said confidently. “I will be there with copious amounts of homemade apple juice and plenty of stories about the goriest fingernails and internal organs I’ve had to pull out in my short term as a doctor.” 

  


  


Renji shook his head with a wince. “You and Rukia would get along like a house on fire.” 

  


  


“So _that’s_ what the correct idiom is?” Orihime said suddenly, remembering the strange look Ichigo had given her only a week ago when she misphrased it. 

  


  


“Eh?” Renji turned over his shoulder. 

  


  


“Nevermind!” she squealed, falling in line with him as they ducked out of the building. 

  


  


x.x

  


  


When Orihime returned to her office, the place was swamped with patients. Several inmates had been grievously injured during the riot, and the lack of beds was proving to be a little difficult for all the day doctors. P.I had been called off for the day, seeing as the place was too cramped to breathe. 

  


  


“Kyoraku-san is at bed #4,” Hanataro was telling her as she came up to him. They both charged down the ward together, Orihime already shrugging on her coat and trotting to keep up pace. “Baton to the gut when he tried disobeying a guard who said he couldn’t come visit Ukitake-san. Possible blunt abdominal trauma.” 

  


  


Orihime winced, before nodding. “Got it. Thanks, Hanataro-san.” 

  


  


Hanataro nodded and took off along the long ward corridors again. Orihime came up beside Shunsui’s bed, greeting the nurse at his bedside. 

  


  


She settled her stethoscope on his chest, shooting him a small smile when he came to. “Airway is clear,” she said to the nurse, a moment later. “Do we have his blood pressure, yet?” 

  


  


“Normal, Doctor-san,” the young nurse quipped, showing Orihime the charts where Shunsui’s details were recorded. “Urine samples showed no bleeding, either.” 

  


  


“Good! We'll just need to keep him steady on crystalloids for a day or two, then,” Orihime cheered, looping her stethoscope back around her neck before smiling at the nurse. “I’ve got it from here, Ogida-san, thank you!” 

  


Ogida nodded, before slipping away from the beds to go tend to another patient. When he was out of earshot, Orihime frowned a little sadly at Shunsui’s crumpled figure. 

  


  


“Don’t give me that look, Doctor-san,” he dismissed with a lazy smile, stroking the greying hairs over his shoulder. “The guards aren’t always very kind to peaceniks like us, it’s alright.” 

  


  


Orihime shook her head. “That’s still no way to treat a distressed inmate, Kyoraku-san,” she said, pushing him slightly so she could check for swelling or tenderness. When she fixed gazes with him again, she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “If it makes you feel better, I was here all night. Ukitake-san was perfectly alright.” 

  


  


He might have seemed nonchalant, but his airy grin didn't belie the relief in his eyes that flashed temporarily at her words. 

  


  


“Aw, you’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” he cooed, trying to sit up. “I’m not worried about Ukitake. Old chap’s still got a good few years left, I can tell. Oi, Ukitake!” he called, leaning over slightly to regard the vegetative figure. “Don’t make the nice doctor worry about us, ne? Quit being lazy and get up already.” 

  


  


Orihime laughed sadly, feeling her eyes getting misty at how long some lovers had to wait, how tenderness seemed to bloom in a place as harshly stone-edged as the penitentiary. After the savagery of last night, it still relieved her to see love blossoming so unashamedly, so calmly.

  


  


She left Shunsui in favor of checking up on other patients. On the far end of the room, by the wall, Shinji was sitting up with a cast slung around his arm. He seemed to be staring pensively at the wall. 

  


  


“Hirako-san,” she said, a little surprised. “I hope you’re not in any trouble?” 

  


  


Shinji’s grin split wide as he regarded her. “ _Doctor Hime-chan!_ ” he exclaimed. “Boy, am I glad to see you! I was so concerned for your safety last night!” 

  


  


“Oh, I was quite alright, Hirako-san!!” she chatted, crossing her arms against his bed. “I was mostly worried about the men here getting themselves hurt.” 

  


  


“Oh you are too good to be true, my love,” he cheered in an equally bright tone. Then, his eyes fell into an uncharacteristically somber crease as he leaned forward quietly, dramatically. “Although, you see, I was more concerned about that vent you’ve got open there.” 

  


  


“Huh?” 

  


  


Orihime looked curiously at Shinji; he pointed to the vent in the corner of the room – which had not only been opened, but also tracked mud in over the carpet. 

  


  


Shinji watched the doctor carefully, cataloguing every minute reaction that passed her face at the sight of the opened vent. 

  


  


Orihime, however, felt a strange nervousness coil in her belly at the sight. The only people who had been in here last night were her, Ukitake and Ichigo. And she _had_ wondered how Ichigo had gotten here so fast. Could it be…?

  


  


“Ya can never trust a con, Doctor Hime-chan,” he said sagely, snapping her out of her thoughts as he nodded in great somberness. “Never know if you’re just a means to their little endgame, y’know.” Then he shook his head, as if to shake off the ominous mood he had set. “Eh, _c'est la vie,_ darlin’. It’s not like any god-fearing soul in here would want to hurt a hair on your pretty head, much less _use_ you for their own gain! That’s unthinkable, forget what I said!” 

  


  


He cackled – and Orihime tried laughing with him – but her focus drifted back to the vent, a horridly heavy weight dropping in her stomach. Could it be..? The denial slowly followed – of _course not – but_ the slither of doubt had snuck in, spreading like a slow poison despite her fortitude. 

  


She shook her head and took off. 

  


Shinji watched after her with a growing smirk. 

  


  


x.x

  


  


The next two days passed without consequence. 

  


  


Patients rolled in speedily, only to either be admitted into a bed or sent straight for surgery to Tokyo General. 

  


  


Orihime was neck deep in work, even as the number of patients began dwindling. Yet, as she went about her business, her gaze kept shifting over to the now-closed vent. Knowing what she knew now about Ichigo and his innocence hardly surprised her. She had suspected it for a while, even. But the presence of the vent, admittedly, came as a shock to her. 

  


  


For the most part, she knew Ichigo was sincere. That his feelings were genuine, whatever feelings they might be. But the small part of her, the one that had bad experiences with lovers that always wanted a little more, a little something _beyond_ what she was ready to give – that was the part of her that bubbled icily in protest and doubt. 

  


  


She sighed, watching her hands blur under the steady stream of water. 

  


  


Orihime always tried her best to keep good faith, but that was always easier said than done, _especially_ for someone like her – high on insecurity, low on the faith that people wanted her for _her_. It was instinctual – it had happened too many times before for her to write this one off as a coincidence. 

  


  


After all, she was only a doctor in prison. And between the two of them, only one had professed their love that night.

  


  


She had thought that was okay, that Ichigo wasn’t the type to say such things openly without preamble, but her fears had been set in stone and nothing could stop the spinning anxiety from whirling into a tornado in her stomach. Now, she wondered if there was an underlying reason behind his hesitance – one that she hadn’t been privy to. 

  


  


_Is he using me to escape?_ she asked herself, not liking the subsequent grue that glided through her body. _Surely not?_

  


  


“Phew, that was the last one,” Hanataro announced from behind her, snapping her out of her daze by the running water. “You know, we’re pretty clear and steady now. Might be a good time to call the P.I back in?” 

  


  


Orihime stopped the tap and dried her hands, willing her heartbeat to still into something steady. Something that was recognizable and pre-Ichigo. 

  


“Actually, Hanataro-san,” She turned over her shoulder, surprised at how steady her voice sounded, “I think I’m going to take my break now. Do you mind taking over P.I for today?” 

  


  


If Hanataro was surprised, he didn’t show it. He just smiled understandingly. “Of course, Dr. Inoue. You should definitely clock out, it’s been a day and a half, these last few days. You deserve some rest, too.” 

  


Orihime nodded. Then, she grabbed her purse and her pager, quickly waving goodbye to Hanataro as she booked it out of the infirmary.

  



	14. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo and Orihime get some friendly advice; the inmates at Seireitei gear up for some excitement over the weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: teensy bit of naughty language

Something was wrong. 

That was the first reaction Ichigo had as he walked through the infirmary doors. Spare a few filled beds, it was mostly silent and empty in there. 

Ichigo jerked his head around casually, but his ears strained to hear the lilting, cheerful voice that was typically associated with this otherwise dull place. On the door was her name, _'Dr. Inoue Orihime'_ in bold, but she was nowhere in sight to prove it. 

Ichigo watched Hanataro for a moment, then, when he saw that the nurse was busy, he craned his head to spot her around the corridors. Nada. There were the day doctors, a few inmates, a janitor or two. But no Orihime. 

"Dr. Inoue went out on her break, you just missed her. She should be back within an hour or two, though," Hanataro said cheerfully, making Ichigo jerk slightly at the sudden noise. He thought he was being inconspicuous, but clearly not, considering Hanataro had noticed. 

"Hmm," Ichigo grumbled, following Hanataro inside the clinic. Orihime's absence made him a little queasy because a) she never usually took breaks and b) she never usually took breaks when _he was on P.I._

"The riot brought in a lot of patients," Hanataro explained, looking over his shoulder. "I'm sure she's fine, she might just need a breather before she comes back in."

Did he have something on his face? This was getting ridiculous. It was awfully ignorant for him to assume her being gone had something to do with _him_. She was a doctor, she was busy -- she was allowed to take her leave any time she damn well pleased and he couldn't say shit because he didn't _own_ her. 

That's what the rational side of his brain screamed. The other one, the one plagued with doubts and a healthy dose of cynicism, couldn't help but feel small; and hate himself for feeling that way in the same breath. 

Did she...not want to see him anymore? Had he done something wrong? Had they taken things too fast? 

"Kurosaki-san, these floors aren't going to wipe themselves!" Hanataro trilled from behind the broom closet. 

_It's not about you, asshole,_ he told himself firmly, trudging up the ward to go wipe those damn floors. She, if anyone, deserved a break and he sure as hell wasn't going to make this something it wasn't. He wouldn’t. He poured all his focus into wiping the floors squeaky clean, not once letting himself worry or ponder about her whereabouts. 

Orihime didn't come in for the rest of the morning he was there. 

x.x

In the wake of the storm, sunny weather had kicked in. Ichigo kicked a clod of soil as he wordlessly came up to Chad, shoulder-to-shoulder. He had returned from a dull P.I hour, just in time for the daily walk in the courtyard. 

"P.I fucking sucked," he announced, as a greeting. 

"Dr. Inoue wasn't there?" Chad asked, bumping Ichigo's elbow with his. 

"Am I that obvious?" Ichigo retorted, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

"You don't go there because you like wiping the floors," Chad pointed out kindly, guiding them to a little section away from the other inmates. 

They leaned by the chain-link fence, Chad facing inwards while Ichigo turned to regard the little strip of walkway between the parking lot and the main tunnel that led to the penitentiary. The same tunnel they'd talked in all those days ago, where he'd made her laugh for the first time.

Ichigo strained his eyes to spot the cars, trying to guess which one was hers-- _if_ it was even in the lot. Then, he decided he was being creepy and looked away. 

His eyes fell on a gurney with a white blanket draped over the top, rattling across the gravel as it was escorted by two, grim-looking guards. It didn't take a genius to guess that the body was being carted to the morgue. He gulped, forcing his eyes to look away. 

"I wish you would've told me about Abuelo." He jerked his head towards Chad. "I get why you didn't, but I'm your best friend, man. Made a vow to fight your battles for you, didn't I?" 

“Thanks Ichigo,” Chad replied, giving him a smile. “You’re a good man.” 

Ichigo sighed. “I don’t know about that, Chad,” he admitted. Chad quirked his brow, nudging him to spill. He shook his head. “I’m not exactly in a ‘normal’ relationship and it just kills me that I’m fucking this up somehow and I don’t even know _what_ I’m doing to fuck up. I just...am.” 

“You love her,” Chad said, the statement sounding more like a question than a fact. 

Ichigo closed his eyes painfully. He did. He should have _told_ her he did, right when she said it, but he let the moment pass and now he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong. That it was his fault. 

“She’ll come around,” Chad assured gently, petting his shoulder. 

“You don’t know that,” Ichigo said, a little petulantly, rubbing his brows with one hand. 

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Ichigo,” Chad insisted. “She’ll come around. Be patient.” 

Ichigo heaved a long sigh, then shook himself out of his funk. There were other things they could always talk about that didn't involve Chad worrying about him. He half-turned to regard Chad with a sly grin. “You’re getting married, though,” he said, elbowing him. “Decide on a best man, yet?” 

“Who do you think?” Chad shot back, with a sincere smile. Ichigo grinned, staring at his feet with the bittersweet pang of happiness that, even if he might have to give up whatever he had with Orihime, he could at least bring his friends the joy they deserved for putting up with him and having his back. 

“Dr. Inoue could be a bridesmaid,” Chad added, raising a bushy brow like he could read Ichigo's mind. 

Ichigo actually let out a short laugh at that, turning once again to regard the walkway. “She’d look nice in white,” he admitted, avoiding Chad’s gaze as he suddenly felt a bout of shyness trounce his cheeks. “Or pink. Or whatever it is bridesmaids wear, who the hell knows?” She’d look great in a _burlap sack_ , but that was just Ichigo’s totally unbiased opinion. “Your boyfriend says we can’t be together, though. Prick.” 

He was only half-joking, but he could see Chad give him a knowing smile. “He’s a closet romantic, he’ll come around.” 

Ichigo scoffed at the bizarreness of the situation. Their impending escape still didn’t feel real to him, just some foggy, faraway dream that Ishida was supposedly spearheading. And so he wasn’t too worried about it, choosing instead to work on the things he _could_ do. Like spend time with Orihime, if he ever saw her again. 

“Seems like that’s all I’m waiting for people to do these days,” he muttered, turning fully at the prospect of not seeing Orihime anywhere. That was when his eyes fell at a far table, where Iba and Renji were sitting with a giant poster behind them. “Chad, I’ll be right back,” he said suddenly, feeling himself charging forward before Chad could murmur his assent. 

He darted up to the table, only just catching up to the tail end of a conversation. 

“I told you we weren’t going to show anything with _‘intent to incite violence,’_ Ikkaku,” Renji was saying with a tired sigh, while Yumichikka was being ushered away by a hollering Ikkaku. Behind him and Iba, the huge poster read ‘Movie of the Week - suggestions.’ 

“I ain’t inciting shit! I just wanna see a firefight like a normal guy, the heck is wrong with that?” he was yelling as he marched away. “I swear I’ll beat your ass, Iba!” 

Iba groaned and leaned back in his seat, peering at Ichigo, who was next in line, through his sunglasses. “Been a while since you asked for a movie, Kurosaki,” he noted.

“And before you ask,” Renji interrupted, tugging his ponytail. “Al Pacino is _‘intent to incite violence,’_ alright? I’m sorry, kid, but it’s still off the list.” 

“Besides, don’t tell me _you’re_ on for good behavior,” Iba narrowed his eyebrows at Ichigo until they disappeared into the rim of his glasses.

“I got my ass jumped last week,” Ichigo said impatiently, running a hand through his hair. “That’s automatic ‘good behavior list’, last I checked.” 

Iba and Renji regarded each other, then shrugged. 

“So,” Iba leaned forward and picked up a pen to write down Ichigo’s suggestion for _‘Movie of the Week.’_ "What will it be?” 

“Godzilla,” Ichigo stated bluntly, crossing his arms and looking away as both Renji and Iba gaped at him. 

“That would fall under,” Renji lifted a sheet and frowned, “sci-fi/horror, wouldn’t it? Horror is off-limits, according to the Warden’s previously revised list. Besides, there’s gore in there, so that’s technically _‘intent to incite,’_ too.”

Ichigo scowled. “It’s Godzilla, man. The shit is CGI.” 

Iba raised his brows. “Didn’t know you felt so strongly about sci-fi, Kurosaki.” 

Ichigo raised his hand in a wave, already ready to head back. “I don’t,” he called out. “Just...try not to get this one shelved. It’ll be a good watch.” 

_If she shows,_ he thought, as he walked away. 

Renji and Iba exchanged confused glances behind his back, then scribbled ‘Godzilla’ below the list of suggestions.

As Ichigo began heading back towards the clearing, he felt an arm wrap tightly around his shoulders. 

“Ichigo!” Shinji trilled, giving him a toothy grin. “How's it hanging, old friend?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. Ishida had warned him of this, but he hadn’t known how truly desperate Shinji must have been if he was approaching Ichigo in the courtyard like this. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Shinji,” Ichigo said bluntly, lightly pushing his arm off his shoulder. “We’re not escaping. Even if we were, it wouldn't be with you.”

Shinji raised his eyebrows. “See I wouldn’t be talking like that if I were you, Ichigo,” he said lightly, but there was a warning edge to it that Ichigo could decipher clear as day.

He snorted. “Why’s that?” 

Shinji stayed rooted to his spot, running one hand along the shortened bangs of his hair. “Well, you never know,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “You and I might have to end up working together sooner than you think.” 

Ichigo shook his head, falling in line with the other inmates. 

Shinji watched after him, feeling his lecherous grin grow wider by the minute. 

  
  
  


x.x 

Orihime’s faith in the world, in people, was one of the things she prided herself on. So, when she needed reassurance about the good that was out there, she knew she could always depend on the one cynic in the world to play devil’s advocate and get her back on track. 

"Phew. When you said guy talk I was really hoping it would be some boy-next-door business major who you met at a bar downtown or something. Not a fucking inmate." 

Orihime banged her head against her steering wheel, letting out a sniff in perfect synchronization with the soft _‘honk.’_ “I don't go to bars," she pointed out. 

"Right. Completely forgot who I was talking to here for a sec." There was a long pause, and Orihime could just tell that Tatsuki was _this_ close to snapping. 

"Orihime, _what_ were you thinking?" 

There it was. 

"Tatsuki-chan, I'm already this close to a meltdown right now, okay? I don't need you to add to it!" She blew heavily into the napkin, no qualms about Tatsuki hearing her. 

"Sorry. Listen, are you absolutely sure he was the guy who used the vent? You don't have any evidence to the contrary?" 

Orihime considered this for a moment, biting her lip. 

"The speed with which he arrived to get me -- it's the only theory that makes sense, Tatsuki. Besides, if anyone else had used that vent, don't you think we would have known about it? We were in there for six hours. Other than Ukitake-san, Ichigo and I, there was no one else in there." 

"You're sure?" 

"Ninety percent. Benefit of the doubt." 

Tatsuki scoffed. "Make that ninety-five." 

Orihime groaned, throwing her head back "Tatsuki, the entire night we were together, he never once tried to pull anything on me. He didn't run, or escape or coax information out of me. The whole time, it seemed like he only had my well being in mind. That's the only thing convincing me there's more to this story than what I know." 

There was an ominous pause. Then, 

"You keep saying together. Did you guys have sex?" 

Orihime’s face turned scarlet. "T-that's not relevant--" 

" _O-ri-hi-me!”_ She winced, holding her phone away from her ear. _“Argh!_ Did you at least use protection?" 

Orihime’s face pulled into a deep scowl that could have rivalled Ichigo’s. "I know you're trying to protect me right now but you're sounding very condescending, Tatsuki-chan. I'm a doctor, remember?" 

Tatsuki ignored her. "Was he forceful? Violent? Persuasive?"

Orihime smoothed a crinkle down her long skirt, trying to stifle a pout. "He was really gentle and maybe even a little hesitant. He kept checking in with me during, and-- and he held me after, Tatsuki. It felt good." To be seen. To be loved, the way she and Ichigo had been with each other. 

She heard Tatsuki take a deep breath. 

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Here's what I need you to do. You're gonna tell the guard what you discovered -- the nice guy, with the big red hair, what was his name?" 

Orihime sniffed. "Abarai-san." 

"Abarai-san. Then, you're gonna head to the closest store, buy a waist strap and a pocket knife -- by the way, do you know how to make your own gas bomb? I feel like that might be useful in a close combat situation because I'm not really satisfied with the level of training I gave you before I sent you to Seirei-fucking-tei." 

"No to all of that, Tatsuki," Orihime interrupted miserably. "I don't know what to think about Ichigo right now, but I know for a fact that he would never, ever hurt me in the way that you're implying." 

There was another silence. Orihime blinked a few times, trying to clear up her blurry vision. 

“Look, I hate to play devil's advocate here,” Tatsuki began, “but you've rambled about how much you and this guy connect and how you think you've been able to get through to him for at least an hour now and I have to ask: has he ever made you do stuff for him?"

'"Stuff?" 

"Sneak in something for him from the outside, bribe you with kisses or pretty words so he could use your phone?" 

Orihime frowned. "No. We usually just talk. Last night was the first night we, um, slept together actually." 

"And this vent thing? You're absolutely sure this is the first time you've noticed a red flag?” Tatsuki asked. 

Orihime nodded, not realizing Tatsuki could see her. Ultimately, Ichigo was the perfect gentleman and she was sure, whether her heart would give out or not, that he was doing his best. Whatever ‘best’ meant for him. 

She suddenly realized Tatsuki was still talking.

“...Orihime, at the end of the day, this guy is a con, alright? You can't trust him, that's a given.” Her voice softened. “I know you've been working really hard over there and I'm so proud of you for risking your big, dummy heart to help people but take care of yourself, okay? I'd hate to see you get caught in the crossfire of whatever this guy's got going on." 

“Thank you, Tatsuki-chan,” she whispered. She couldn’t decide where her heart was at the moment, but she knew her mood had slightly improved upon talking to Tatsuki -- like always. And she knew she could always trust Tatsuki with the gravest of secrets, the perfect fallback she needed in a moment of crisis. 

"And whatever you do, do not confront him about it. We have no idea how he could react.” 

“Okay,” Orihime replied hesitantly, hoping it seemed convincing enough. There was another moment’s silence. Orihime watched the line of prisoners heading back in from their daily walk, wondering if she could spot the flash of orange anywhere. If she _should_. 

"So," Tatsuki blew out a breath, finally snapping her out of it. "Was Kurosaki any good in the sack?" 

Orihime nearly dropped her phone. 

" _Tatsuki!_ " she shrieked. 


	15. Trouble in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise as plans fall apart and with the way things are going, it could be a while before Ichigo and Orihime are out of the woods and in the clear.

When Ichigo arrived at P.I the next day, he was in a slightly better mood. He had wrangled the guards into showing a screening of 'Godzilla,' combed his hair, _and_ braced himself to get dumped on the off-chance that Orihime wanted to, well, dump him. He was prepared. He was ready.

He saw her figure even before he arrived, bent over one of the shelves in the store closet. 

What he wasn't ready for was the near lifeless look in her eyes when she locked gazes with him, only to abruptly turn away and pretend she was looking at the floor. 

"Thanks," he said curtly to the guard, heading straight to where she was. He hoped the confidence in his footsteps belied his sinking stomach as he approached her. 

"Hey," he greeted, immediately cringing at his forced, cheerful tone. "Haven't seen you in a while." 

Orihime smiled, though the brightness of it didn't carry through to her eyes. "I was just a little busy, Kurosaki-san. Sorry for worrying you." 

_Kurosaki-san?_

“I see,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. Now that he was actually in front of her, he had no idea what to say. The air between them seemed stale, hostile. 

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate it if you could get started on the floors, Kurosaki-san,” she said formally, then gestured towards the wards. “I have to take care of Kyoraku-san’s discharge, so I’ll be over in the infirmary if you need me!” 

She stepped out of the way and headed to the wards without waiting for him to respond. He narrowed his eyes after her, but stayed rooted to his spot.

He decided to get started on his cleaning dutifully so he could finish early and confront her. If it was a ‘goodbye’ she was giving him, he wanted to hear it straight from her. Let it lance through his heart and punish him in ways he deserved. Let it _hurt_. 

So he cleaned and he cleaned and he kept his grip firm on the broom handle until the floors were _polished_. 

When the guard who had come to pick Shunsui up retreated, taking Shunsui with him, Ichigo dunked his broom in the bucket and bent around the corner. Orihime seemed to be peering into her files rather pensively. 

He settled his hand on the crook of her elbow, gently pulling her aside. 

“If it made you uncomfortable,” he began, then amended, “if _I_ made you uncomfortable or you changed your mind about us, you could have just told me, Inoue. I would've understood."

Orihime’s eyes widened for a split second, then faltered. She worried her lip, clearly hesitating to say whatever was on her mind. Ichigo squeezed her elbow lightly, hoping that would encourage her to come clean. 

“I found the vent,” she admitted quietly, fidgeting with her fingers. “Well, Hirako-san found it actually, but it doesn’t matter because it was open, Kurosaki-san.” 

Ichigo raised his eyebrows. _The vent?_ Then his brain clicked in realization. Right. The vent. He felt a sudden sluggish jolt of realization; amidst the panic of reaching her on the night of the storm, there was the slight possibility he might have forgotten to close it.

He clenched his fist at the mention of ‘Hirako-san', though. Knowing Shinji had been behind this only slightly stressed him out. When he realized what had been discovered, what was at stake, he felt his chest tighten. 

“I know I said I would stay out of your business, whatever business that might be,” Orihime began, voice trembling slightly as she looked up at him. “And I won’t be mad, Kurosaki-san, I promise, but I have to know the truth. Were you,” she choked slightly, the rest of her words falling to a whisper. “Were you using me to escape?” 

Ichigo’s stomach turned, a range of mercurial emotions skirting across his face – none of them long enough to decipher. 

“Is that what you think?” he asked quietly, stepping into her space. “Is that really what you think of me, Orihime?” 

_I love you,_ he thought, but didn’t say. It was too convenient and he didn’t want her to think he was saying it just so she would forgive him; but God did it hurt. All those afternoons of talking and laughing together, the soft press of her skin on his, all those lonely nights spent thinking about her and the bliss of just _being_ in her presence to the point he was sure he had imagined her – reduced to this. This moment of temporary insanity and heartbreak that was otherwise unthinkable when he was with her. 

Worst of all, he knew now that whatever explanation he had, it would just sound like an excuse. Like telling your grade school teacher you were looking the other way when the others stole candy during recess. He was just as in it now, as Ishida and Chad were. And he’d been made. 

But God, _did it hurt._

Orihime felt herself flinch at the hurt and aghast look on his face, plainly written across his tight brows and his deepening frown. He looked shell-shocked, like he was blocking a hit. She wished she could tell him she wasn’t faring any better either, her hands trembling. 

“I don’t know what to think,” she whimpered quietly, feeling her hand go slack where he was holding it. “I just want to know the truth.” 

She watched as he closed his eyes, as he let her hand go. When they reopened, they were dark with regret. 

Ichigo sighed. “I _am_ breaking out,” he confessed, feeling the last of his inhibitions drift past him, “and it’s right through your office–” 

Despite her crawling suspicions, she felt her heart constrict nonetheless. The band-aid that was supposed to have been ripped off had all but shredded her. 

“– But I want you to know: I’ve never lied to you _once_ since the day I met you,” he said, eyes hardened. “And if you'll still have me, I never will. I know this is hard to take in, Orihime, but you can trust that."

Orihime felt it lodge right up to her throat, how badly she wanted to believe him. Yet, her eyes burned at the betrayal of it all. At the hurt. 

“Look, I’m going to tell the guard I’m done for the day. Give you your space,” he said grimly, stepping back. “Ball’s in your court. Let me know where we stand when I come in next.” 

He withdrew hesitantly, like he was waiting for her to stop him, to take it all back. When she didn’t, he rapped on the door, waited for it to swing open, and then left. 

As Orihime watched his retreating figure, she couldn’t help but feel a terrible sense of déjà vu.

  
  


**__________**

Inmates from all wings parted in the middle as a speedy line of orange broke through the ranks. Behind the vague blur were two, more comprehensive figures, darting after him in a desperate attempt to cull his rage. 

Hirako Shinji was eating an apple by the benches. His satisfaction, however, was short-lived, when a force with the intensity of a hurricane yanked him harshly by the collar and dragged him over to the chain-link fence. His back slammed into the mesh as two strong hands gripped his collar. 

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, with an oily grin. 

“What do you want?” Kurosaki Ichigo growled, through gritted teeth. 

“Well, inner peace, nirvana, a hundred million yen, a puppy…” Shinji began listing off, only for Ichigo to drag him back and slam him again. His face crumpled in pain. “Ow! What’s your problem, Ichigo? It’s not like you and Doctor Hime-chan were gonna get serious any time soon. I was doing you a f–” Ichigo punched him in the face, sending him slumping against the grass. 

“Ichigo!” Chad exclaimed in warning, while he and Ishida hung back. 

“Oi! Kurosaki! Hirako!” he suddenly heard Renji yelling from somewhere beyond the fence. “Break it up or I’m gonna have to come over there myself, asshats!” 

Ichigo raised his hands up in surrender, his temporary bloodlust quenched. His eyes were still fixed on Shinji, however. 

“It’s just play-fighting, Abarai-san!” Shinji trilled, with the slight jerk of his head, but when he turned back to Ichigo, his eyes were serious. “I know what you’re up to and I want in.” 

“Stand up,” Ichigo demanded, wiping his mouth. 

“No, you’re gonna hit me again!” Shinji wailed, cowering dramatically behind his hands. 

“ _Stand up._ ” Ichigo clutched his collar and forced him to his feet. “You’re not coming with us, Shinji,” he said quietly, acutely aware of other inmates watching them curiously. “If I was sure about it before, I’m dead set on it now.” 

Behind him, Chad and Ishida nodded in agreement. 

“I don’t think you understand,” Shinji said, shoving Ichigo’s hands off him. “ _You_ don’t have a choice, Ichigo. Either it’s the four of us, or it’s none of us because I’m tired of waiting and if I don’t hear any plans soon, I’m gonna start singing to the guards. Literally.” 

“Absolutely not,” Ichigo said firmly, crossing his arms. 

“Not unless you can bring something to the table,” Ishida added carefully, ignoring the glare Ichigo sent in his direction. 

Shinji’s grin widened. “You didn’t think I’d come to play without a buy-in, did you?” he asked in mock bewilderment, clutching his neck tenderly. 

“What are you offering?” Ishida asked, shooting a furtive glance at their surroundings. 

Ichigo’s shoulders tightened. “Ishida –” 

“ _What_ are you offering, Hirako-san?” Ishida repeated, levelling his gaze with Shinji’s. 

Shinji looped one arm around Ishida’s shoulder, the other curled around Chad’s bicep. He made it seem like a friendly gesture, but dragged both their feet at an angle where they could regard the parking lot. 

“You boys like cars?” Shinji asked, mimicking the tone of an exaggerated salesman. “Because I can get us one, night of the escape.” 

“You can get us a car,” Chad repeated sceptically, raising an eyebrow. “Cars get caught.” 

Shinji wagged a finger, shaking his head. “Regular ol’ cars get caught, sure,” he said, just as a giant, blue van began pulling in. “ _My_ car will take you straight to heaven, no pit stops, 100% guaranteed.” 

Suddenly, the large text painted on the front of the van came into view. _‘Seireitei Morgue Services’_ it read, in big, bold letters. A slightly built, lean man leaped out. His ashy hair and piercings twinkle in the pale morning light. As if he could sense being spotted, he turned over his shoulder. 

Shinji winked at him. The man scoffed and shook his head, before going back to unloading the van. 

Chad, Ishida and even Ichigo’s begrudging eyes widened. 

“So,” Shinji grinned, looking over his shoulder at Ichigo. “Is there room for one more on this trip, then?” 

  
  


**_________**

“Don’t look at me like that, Kurosaki,” Ishida said icily, back in their cell. “Not after you practically revealed our entire game plan to _the doctor_ , who, take a wild guess, _works here_ and could easily pick up the phone to warn the _warden_." He glared at Ichigo. "I was simply making amends, fixing messes that could have potentially cost us.” 

"I didn't tell her either of your names," Ichigo murmured, staring at his hands, not wanting to tell either of them how his already razored heart would have torn to shreds if he had to lie to her. "You can still go if I get –”

"Ichigo," Chad heaved a sigh, sounding disappointed. 

“Instead of going off at me, why don’t you go off on Shinji, huh?” Ichigo demanded, shaking his fist at Ishida. “Why the fuck does he know? If your plan was so good, why didn’t we have a fricking exit strategy?” 

“We did,” Ishida replied, infuriatingly calm. “I just liked his better. Besides, we had to parlay or the entire plan would be up in flames once Hirako-san got talking to the guards. I assessed the situation and took precautionary measures.” 

“I hate you,” Ichigo said, with only half the intended heat. He sank into his bed and ran his hand over his face. 

“Ichigo, we’re sorry,” Chad said, sounding genuinely apologetic. 

Ichigo shook his head. “There’s no need for that,” he said, sounding defeated. “I just…” 

“You just thought, if Hirako-san had not gotten involved, _you_ would still be on good terms with Dr. Inoue and all would be okay in your ill-fated relationship,” Ishida finished for him, pushing his glasses back up with a superior look on his face. “How long are you going to keep up the charade, Kurosaki? If she tells the guards, we're done for. If we get out of here, the police are going to interrogate her. If we don't, she'll have to watch you die or get locked up in solitary. If you two get caught, she'll lose her job _and_ her reputation. Dead ends _everywhere_! Is that what you want?" 

A straight sliver of ice jammed it's way to his heart, not because what Ishida said was wrong, but because it _wasn't_. But rage and pain had a way of superseding logic and there was only so much heartache he could take in a day before his patience gave out. 

“Don’t talk down to me like you didn’t just invite a thieving felon into our escape plan,” Ichigo hissed. “Did you even ask Chad before you made that call, or did you just decide for yourself that you know what’s best for everyone like you always do?” 

Ishida's face turned white. It was a surprise he didn't smack Ichigo across the face right then, choosing to clench his fists instead. Between the two of them, Chad stood as a barricade, face creased in worry as he tried to decide which one of the two he was going to comfort first. 

"Don't you dare presume to understand a single one of my intentions, Kurosaki," Ishida spat, shooting Ichigo a scathing look. 

"Wouldn't dream of it, four-eyes," Ichigo bit back venomously. "I'm the last person who would even _want_ to understand a guy as cocky, thickheaded and _selfish_ as you are!" 

This time, Ishida did punch him. 

Square in the face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you spot my Taylor Swift reference in the chapter summary? I wish I could say I was Ashamed of it, but I Am Not. Also, I realize this story is doing far better on ff . net, so if any new reader thinks I am relentlessly posting chapters despite not getting too many kudos on here/talking to myself, that is half-false. But it could also be true, who knows? Until next time!


	16. The Shakedown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, hiding an illegal weapon in prison is a lot harder than you'd think it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** If you are squeamish, especially about medical-related/body stuff, proceed with caution. Also, questionable use of a condom. I refuse to say further, thanks for reading!

Chad kept the newspaper folded in his lap, religiously regarding the crossword with his brows creased. 

“Murder,” he rumbled, “Four letters.”

“Kill,” Ichigo spat, from across the cell, glaring daggers at Ishida. 

“Maim,” Ishida replied, regarding Ichigo with an equally icy stare. 

Chad raised his eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two of them. That immediately had them snapping out of it, both boys suddenly very interested in going back to what they were doing before Chad broke the silence. 

Since their fight from two days ago, Ichigo and Ishida had resorted to a civil, but stony silence. It wasn't odd for them to get like this every once in a while – cabin fever was almost a real, living thing and Ichigo and Ishida tended to be volatile. In fact, Ichigo’s nose was still quite red to prove it. 

But with the added elements of Hirako Shinji and Inoue Orihime, things seemed to be tense. Ichigo was mainly worried about Orihime, who had become an unintentional accomplice, and his relationship, which had been blown to cinders. Ishida was mainly hurt about his wounded pride. 

Chad opened his mouth, then closed it again. There were few things he could say to ease the tension, so he went back to perusing the crossword. 

The silence was meant to be short-lived however, when the overhead speaker suddenly crackled. 

“ _All inmates step out of your cells for inspection_ ,” the robotic voice droned. “ _I repeat, all inmates step out of your cells for inspection.”_

The doors buzzed, then groaned and swung open. Inmates slowly began piling outside their cells, coming out to stand on the walkway. 

Ichigo, Ishida and Chad’s heads snapped up at once, the fear and shock blatant in each of their eyes, clear as day. 

“I thought shakedown wasn’t until the end of the month,” Ichigo hissed urgently under his breath, as Ishida began scrambling towards the little nook behind the toilet where they hid their blunt-edged screw. He retrieved it, quickly hiding it in his palm. 

“It’s because of the riot,” Chad said, quickly standing up with the rest of them. The recent riot had given inmates a lot of leeway; it wasn’t unheard of for the guards to prepone inspection as a measure against any weapons or tools being nicked. But the tool in Ishida’s hand…

They stared at each other with bated breath. “Under the bed?” Chad suggested, glancing at the glinting, two-inch metal hidden in Ishida’s hand. 

Ishida shook his head. “They almost always check there first,” he explained, palms slick with sweat. It felt like he was holding a ticking time-bomb, the way the otherwise innocuous metal occupied his palm. 

“Here,” Ichigo handed his sock, flapping it urgently at Ishida. “Shove it in there.” 

_“Open up on 39!”_ They heard the guard shout. 

Ishida frowned. “Do you not understand what a shakedown means?” he whisper-shouted. “They are definitely going to check your stinky socks, Kurosaki!”

“Fuck,” Ichigo growled in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck!” 

Ishida glanced at the vent. If they had the time, they could have opened the lock and thrown in the metaphorical key. But they didn’t. 

_“Open up on 40!”_

There wasn’t enough time and frankly, Ishida had too much riding on this escape for their plan to hitch on one, unforeseen consequence. He scanned his surroundings, the gears in his brain scrambling rapidly to find a solution. It screeched to a halt when there was a flash of an idea – albeit a very risky, very uncertain one. 

He took a deep, steadying breath. “Quick,” he rapped Ichigo on the elbow. “Does anyone have a condom?” 

Ichigo blinked, then opened his mouth. “I know you’re stressed but I’m pretty sure that isn’t the appropriate reaction to–”

“Condom!” he hissed, staring at both boys pointedly. Chad then yanked his sheet back, lifting the little tin box under the pillow. He withdrew one foil pocket, tossing it at Ichigo. 

Ichigo caught it with one hand, immediately pushing it towards Ishida, who snatched it and began tearing it open. “What–” 

The ripping noise was evident, even through the sounds of all three of their loud and rapid breathing. Ishida stuffed the tool inside the opened condom with shaky hands and tied it up, impervious to the fact that Ichigo and Chad were watching him with gaping mouths. 

He closed his eyes, took one last, deep inhale. Then, he opened his mouth and swallowed it. 

The entire thing, round-edged screw wrapped in a condom. 

The up-and-down bob of Ishida’s throat only indicated as much. 

_“Open up on 42!”_

Ichigo and Chad jerked out of their shock suddenly, turning to regard the guard. As the man walked in to check their cell, not a single one of them even breathed. Out of the corner of his eye, Ichigo stared in bewilderment at Ishida. Apart from looking chalky white and gripping the sides of his arms tightly, the latter gave no indication that anything was out of the ordinary. 

Ichigo only vaguely registered the guard ambling around, still in severe befuddlement over what had happened. Clothes, dust bins and bed sheets were ruffled and dragged aside, books and napkins examined and shaken open in the background, but it was just idle noise to his ears. 

“Arms and legs up, wide apart,” the guard announced, snapping him out of his daze. Ichigo mechanically T-posed, feeling lines of sweat slick down his forehead and his armpits as the guard began patting him down. Two fingers slid his mouth open on either side as the guard flashed a light in. Seeming satisfied, he moved onto Chad. 

While the guard was patting down Chad, Ichigo felt his ears ring and vibrate with his heartbeat. The elephant in the room was obvious, even more evident with the way Ishida was clutching himself. No one spoke a word as the man passed from Chad to Ishida, though Ichigo could have very well heard his cellmates’ heartbeats. 

After what seemed like the longest pat down in history, the guard was satisfied enough to begin trudging out of the cell.

Ichigo waited one whole second, then another, but before he could turn on his heel, there was a loud _‘thud’_ against the floor.

“Ishida, what the fuck!” he bellowed at the crumpled figure. Chad was already falling to his knees, cradling Ishida’s head straight into his lap as he groaned. “ _Why_ the fuck–!”

“It had to be done,” Ishida retorted hoarsely, grabbing Chad’s hand to hoist himself up. On his way however, a sharp wince jabbed his gut and he immediately collapsed back against the floor. This time, Chad’s large hand protected him from the fall, but it meant little in the grand scheme of shivers racking up his body. There was an – albeit small – foreign object on its way to his belly and his body was, naturally, reacting. 

Ichigo got to his knees, feeling lines of nervous sweat start to drip down his forehead. Shit. _Shit!_

“Ichigo,” Chad gasped, his eyes blown wide in fear, “Call the guard.” 

In his arms, Ishida was still conscious, but his spine had begun to jerk in little back and forth, convulsing spurts.

Ichigo felt his knees tremble as he sprang up and crossed the distance of their bodies to reach their locked cell door. He began banging his fist against the cool metal, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up his elbow as he peered out through the latticework of bars. “Guard!” he hollered, “ _Abarai!_ We need a doctor in here!” 

He jerked back over his shoulder when Ishida started letting out little puffs of breaths and groans. Chad was trying to haul him into a comfortable position, but he seemed volatile in his convulsive state. His eyes were hazy, a thin line of drool already starting to drip past his chin. 

Ichigo turned around banged harder, the already forming bruises on his knuckles turning fresh with pain. “Abarai!” he yelled, trying to rattle the bars back and forth to no avail. “We need a doctor!” 

At the sound of heavy footsteps, he jumped back – careful to avoid stepping on Chad and Ishida. The tremors in his fingers seemed to be competing with the rapid pick-up of his heartbeat. 

“Open up on 42!” Renji declared, already stepping in to examine the damage as the doors rattled open. When he saw Ishida’s slumped figure, he flinched. “Shit.” He was already jerking the sleeve of his shoulder, bringing the two-way radio up to his mouth, “This is Abarai to base; we need a doctor ASAP in gen-pop, cell #42. Is Dr. Inoue in?” 

“ _Give me just a minute, Abarai-san_ ,” the voice chimed back. 

Renji stared from Ishida, to Chad, and finally to Ichigo. His gaze dropped to Ichigo’s clenched fists, then lifted to pop his head around the cell and see what the hell was taking so long at base. On cue, his radio clicked, 

“ _She’s just been dispatched, sir_ ,” the attendant reported, “ _She’s headed your way as we speak_.”

“Thanks,” Renji quipped, his posture steady as he made space around the cell for the doctor’s arrival. If he found the timing between shakedown and Ishida’s sudden bout of seizures a little off, he didn’t mention it. 

Ichigo collapsed on the bed, eyes bloodshot as he hung his head between his hands. On the floor, Ishida had started choking, but desperately maintained consciousness. Chad was whispering quietly into his ear, running one hand along his back. Ichigo watched, feeling torn apart with the pain of not being able to help, to heal, to do something other than just _sit there_ and…

He heard the rapid click of footsteps, and then, just as he lifted his head, he saw her. Hair messily thrown into a high ponytail as if she was in a rush, face etched in warmth and concern. 

_Orihime_. 

Her eyes met his briefly, before skimming down to Ishida’s slumped figure with a short gasp. She got on her knees without prompting, already rolling Ishida over to his side. 

“He...” Chad started, _truly_ not knowing what to say, as opposed to his usual deliberate silence, “Please, Dr. Inoue.” 

Orihime lifted her head to see the unbridled fear in his eyes with surprise. She reached across Ishida’s body and squeezed Chad’s hand. 

Feeling a little out of place, Renji stepped out of the cell to give them their privacy. 

“It’s okay,” she assured Chad gently, once she noticed Renji was out of earshot. “I can help. What happened?”

That was a loaded question, in and of itself, even if Renji was outside. Chad and Ichigo exchanged looks. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t help me,” she said mildly, not lifting her eyes from her cursory examination of Ishida. When she looked up, there was a knowing look in her eyes, like she could somehow guess what they had been up to. Ichigo supposed it was obvious, considering she knew of their plans. 

He swallowed, the faint flicker of his heartbeat flaring when their gazes locked. “He, uh, ate something...not edible,” he said lamely. 

Orihime’s brows furrowed, but she soldiered on, all professional-like. “How large was the object?” 

Ishida retched loudly, turning all the occupants’ attention to him. He hurled forward, making little choking noises as he gripped his neck with one hand, his side with the other. Orihime hooked one arm around his shoulders, then stared between Chad and Ichigo expectantly. 

“Two inches,” Chad mumbled, the lines on his forehead etched in worry. 

“It was insulated, Dr. Inoue,” Ishida wheezed, rousing from his position beside her. “There’s no need to worry about internal organ rupture.” 

Orihime’s eyebrows stitched together in confusion as she lifted his jaw to meet his eyes. “Regardless, erm, Ishida-san, swallowing a foreign object poses multiple health risks,” she explained rapidly, already guiding their joined bodies out of the cell. When Ichigo saw her buckling under the collective weight, he came up on Ishida’s other side to help her. 

She craned her head around. “Abarai-san, we might need to fill out a transfer to Tokyo General –” 

“Please, Doctor-san,” Ishida declared suddenly, flinging himself backward to break the pulling momentum. Ichigo, Orihime, and Ishida flew back at the unexpected force. 

Ishida gripped Orihime’s arm tightly, despite the intense tremors coursing through his body. “I don’t need surgery. You have to understand, I...I _can’t_ leave.” His hazy eyes flicked to Chad, before pleading with Orihime again. “My sincerest apologies for barking orders at you, but really, all you have to do is sedate me and I’ll be alright. I shall excrete the object at the soonest.” His voice was hushed, rapid like he was trying not to catch Renji’s attention. 

Orihime’s eyes widened and she looked over him to Ichigo, in question. 

“Don’t ask,” Ichigo replied, with a shrug, “Bastard reads a lot.” 

Orihime frowned worriedly. “Ishida-san –” 

“ _Please_ ,” Ishida begged, rattling her arm almost painfully. In all of Ichigo’s years knowing him, he had never seen the man so desperate. So ready to debase his own image for a cause. 

Orihime took a steadying breath. Then she quirked her head around the bend of their cell and signalled to Renji, “We need a gurney here, and two guards,” she instructed, relieved to see Renji already punching out the respective buttons on his pager, “The patient has to be transferred to the infirmary immediately.” 

“What about surgery?” Renji asked, lifting his phone. “Tokyo General is on the line.” 

Orihime sighed, regarding all the three men of cell #42. Their eyes were shining in a collective plea. 

“False alarm,” she murmured to Renji. “Patient must have ingested something upsetting at dinner – nothing we can’t fix over a bunch of laxatives.”

Renji nodded, then snapped into motion. There was a flurry of movement, phone calls made, orders barked and people shifted around before two guards and a nurse flocked over to cell #42. There were a lot of spectators from the surrounding cells, but Ichigo’s gaze was fixed on Ishida’s limp figure being strapped to the stretcher. He was floating in and out of consciousness, but Ichigo noticed his pale fingers beckoning him closer.

He leaned down, bringing his ear close to Ishida’s mouth. 

“Come and...retrieve it...” he whispered, “During P.I tomorrow…”

When Ichigo looked at him, baffled, he smirked weakly. 

As he fell back against the bed, he looked frail, defenceless. Under the mask they had slapped onto his face and the glasses that were yanked off and handed to Orihime, he seemed unrecognizable. 

What snapped him out of his misery was a soft hand curling around his wrist with a light squeeze. Slender fingers came down to brush his bruises tenderly, a feather-light touch. Ichigo met Orihime’s eyes, the raw ache in his chest turning him helplessly mute. She shook her head and pursed her lips, hoping her eyes could convey what words couldn’t at the moment. 

She let go of his hand as more guards shuffled in, but stayed close to his side. “He’s going to be okay,” she said under her breath, solely for him to hear. “I promise.”

She looked up at him, like she was trying to gauge his reaction. 

His chest hitched, feeling a swarm of relief, exhaustion and _love_ overwhelming his chest like a broken dam. The fact that the last statement sounded so earnest, so tender in opposition to her professional demeanour – he could trust that she meant it. It was bittersweet. It was so _her_.

His eyes drifted to hers, then to her lips and the soft curve of her jaw, once again feeling undeserving. Even if he didn’t exactly _have_ her at the moment. 

“I know,” he replied feebly, mimicking her low tone. “I believe you.” 

Once the guards had prepped Ishida, she left his cell and began following him down the long corridors.

Ichigo watched her retreating figure, then turned around and clapped Chad on the shoulder. “You okay?” 

Chad grunted, but Ichigo noticed his eyes were wet. He clenched his fists, feeling a sense of urgency throb his pulse. The longer they delayed their escape, it seemed like more of the life they knew was succumbing to the swallowing flames of tragedy. 

He settled onto his mattress and stared up at the ceiling. 

Sleep was going to be evasive tonight, he could already feel it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any of you curious about whether or not Ishida's trick happens in real life, it does! Drug smugglers swallow condoms all the time across the border, so there's a little fun (if not horrifying) body fact. As for the medical accuracy, copious amounts of suspension of disbelief is appreciated. Thanks for reading, as always!


	17. In the Strangest Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the strangest places can bloom with the most brilliant things, like love - or, if you're lucky enough, a two-inch screw.

Doctor Inoue Orihime was perched atop her desk, hands wrapped around her crossed legs. There seemed to be some sort of shonen resting on the tops of her knees, her stubby nose inches away from the pages. Her eyes darted right to left at an _incredibly_ rapid pace, making Uryu slightly dizzy. 

After hooking Uryu up to a sedative-infused IV, she had stayed by his side the entire night as he waded in and out of consciousness. 

The sluggish crawl of medication had effectively subdued the burning pain in Uryu’s body. All that was left was for him to, quite literally, poop out the screw and hand it off to Kurosaki – who would come around to P.I at dawn.

All said and done, he was quite impressed with his damage control. 

Noticing he was coming to, Orihime kicked herself off the counter and came up to examine him. She had shrugged off her coat and scrubs, no doubt due to the humidity of the infirmary. Underneath her tank top, he could see the rounded curves of her biceps, the straight lines of her wrists and fingers. Uryu was mildly impressed. Beneath the timid exterior, there was a strength this woman seemed to possess that was quite apt for a penitentiary.  
  


“How are we feeling?” she asked softly, fussing with the IV, before regarding him with a questioning murmur. “Any pain? Discomfort?”

“I’m quite alright, thank you, Dr. Inoue,” Uryu assured her. He could see her biting her lip, wrestling with whatever she was thinking about. Her hairpins, sitting neatly on her head, twinkled in the low light. “I see my handicrafts are being put to good use,” he pointed out. 

Orihime smiled. “Yes, I never got to thank you, did I?” 

Uryu shook his head. “I owed Kurosaki a favor. Besides, I think the make is quite fascinating. It was a good use of my time.”

She patted his forehead, checked for a fever or any other concerning symptoms, then drew up her chair by his bedside. When she sat down, her eyes were grave. “What you did tonight, Ishida-san,” she started, crossing her arms on her lap, “You could have seriously compromised your health. If I didn’t know...If I didn’t know what I know, I would have labelled your behavior as self-destructive.” 

Uryu frowned. She was right, obviously. Despite the protective covering of the condom, there was always the chance of the makeshift tool piercing an organ, rupturing an important muscle somewhere. But, there was also the chance of success – and Uryu was a man who wasn’t above taking chances every once in a while.

He observed the doctor under the slanting light of the window. While she seemed mild-tempered, well-meaning, he couldn’t yet figure out her motivations. Her character. And if Kurosaki was going to be blinded by his affection for her, Uryu supposed it was his responsibility to cover bases, find out if a contingency had to be put in place. 

“I’m sure, doctor,” he started slowly, “that you of all people understand what it’s like to make compromises for the sake of love.” 

He glanced at her, tried to see how she would take it.

Orihime’s head perked up in curiosity. “What do you mean?” 

Uryu leaned forward, observing her with a questioning eye. “It’s been a few days since Kurosaki practically revealed the entirety of our plans to you,” he said, watching her eyes grow wider, “Now, you and I both know that, even though he didn’t reveal our names, most cellmates escape together. And after the events of last night, you have enough evidence to implicate us. It would have been perfectly in your right as a prison staff to do so. You didn’t.” 

Orihime spluttered, “Well, I…” She fiddled with her fingers. 

Uryu gave her a wry smile. “You’re protecting him, regardless of the fact that you’re on a break,” he mused, leaning back into his pillow. “I find that admirable, considering your doubts about your relationship.” 

Orihime chewed her lips and sighed. “I came here because I wanted to help, Ishida-san,” she admitted, “That hasn’t changed, even–even if I’m unsure of other things.” 

Uryu nodded, then cleared his throat. “Dr. Inoue, I know Kurosaki can seem like a blithering fool sometimes, and I definitely understand your rightful concerns about his intentions, but he does feel very strongly for you,” he said, slightly uncomfortable at all this talk about feelings, but finding it necessary when he saw her cheeks darken. “The only reason he appealed his case all those times was because his sisters pleaded with him. The night of the storm, he wasn’t even aware of the vent’s existence. And when he did find out, he only used it because _your_ life was at stake.” He pushed his glasses up at his nose, a slight frown on his face. “I might not agree with Kurosaki all the time, but he is a man that has always put the happiness of the ones he loves above himself, even if it...hurts his own desires sometimes.” 

“He never told me he didn’t know about the vent,” Orihime mentioned, feeling slightly incredulous. But knowing Ichigo, she honestly should have seen it coming. “He made it seem like...he’d been sitting on it for a while.” 

“You might have noticed that your boyfriend can be a bit of an idiot sometimes,” Uryu chuckled when she let out a giggle, then sobered. “I don’t doubt that you will be patient with him, Dr. Inoue, and I know it would be a lot to ask but please, please don’t punish him by ratting us out. I...the man I love is sitting on a ticking time bomb. I cannot fail him, not when I’ve come this far.” 

Orihime shook her head, bringing her hand to squeeze Uryu’s like she had with Chad. “I have no intentions of punishing anyone, Ishida-san,” she said softly, “Especially not Ichigo.” 

He nodded, feeling a sliver of relief. He examined his hands, beginning to drift off as the silence of the room and his exhaustion pulled him in. He was interrupted, however, by a small laugh. 

He raised his eyebrows. “Is everything alright?”

Orihime shook her head. “Sorry, it’s just a little surreal for me to be sitting here with you,” she explained, “I used to work under your father and it’s a little surprising how...similar you two are.” 

Uryu made a face. “I would hardly say that,” he said, scorned. But now that she had mentioned it, he did vaguely remember a clumsy and good-spirited _‘Inoue’_ that had followed his father around Tokyo General. He regarded her strangely. “If my memory serves me right, he yelled at you all the time.” 

She laughed, eyes bright with...nostalgia, it seemed. _Well, that made one of them,_ Uryu thought bitterly. 

“He did,” she agreed. “But he also wrote my recommendation before I came here, so there’s that!” She paused, biting her lip. “I...it seemed like your departure really upset him, Ishida-san. He never told me explicitly, but I spent a lot of time with him, and I could feel it.” 

Uryu scoffed. “My father has never cared about anyone but himself, Dr. Inoue,” he said. “I assure you, any ‘upset’ he might have shown would only be in regards to his reputation.” 

Orihime shook her head and patted him on the shoulder. “If there’s anything I learned tonight, it’s that sometimes the people that love us have a hard time communicating it,” she giggled at his agreeing scoff. “I’m going to leave you be. Let you catch up on your rest.” 

Uryu felt the first stir of _something_ in his stomach. “Actually, Dr. Inoue.” He had to fight himself to keep a grin from spreading on his face. “I think I need to use the bathroom.” 

  
  


**_____________**

As dawn broke out, Ichigo felt the weariness press into his bones with an ache that was starting to seem almost permanent. The entirety of his night had been spent still and sleepless as Chad tossed and turned and mumbled in his sleep. When the man had said goodbye to Ichigo in the morning, his eyes had been gaunt.

Ichigo came up to the mouth of the ward, just as a day doctor was leaving it. She held the door open for him, so he picked up his pace and nodded his thanks at her. Over his view of the glass door, he spotted Ishida – seemingly asleep. On the opposite end, Orihime was brushing her hair with her fingers, in front of the grainy mirror.

His heart lodged in his throat at the sight. It was still early; her work day hadn’t officially begun yet, so she was still in a light tank top, the dark green drawstring of her scrubs pressing over her belly. Her hair, long and dark, fell down her back as she turned to scrutinize its length in the mirror. 

She hadn’t seen him yet, he discerned, because she frowned and then blew an air kiss to herself in the mirror. If he hadn’t been groggy and worried out of his mind last night, he was sure a chuckle would have spilled out of him at the sight. 

Instead, he settled for clearing his throat. 

Orihime whirled on her heel almost immediately, nearly knocking over a table with all sorts of tools arranged on it. She quickly steadied it, then stared at him, her mouth slightly hanging open. “Kurosaki-san?” 

“H-hey,” he said, forcibly dragging his gaze away from hers. He jerked his head towards the bed. “How is he?” 

Orihime came up to him slowly, following his gaze. “Well, he’s gotten adequate meds and sleep in his system,” she explained softly, before turning back to Ichigo with a small smile. “He passed motion twice, once last night and once this morning, so he should be alright for discharge by the end of the day, or tomorrow morning at the latest.” 

Ichigo nodded, feeling the lump in his throat pass with a huge gust of relief. He stared down at Orihime, fingers itching with this odd ache to reach out to her. He resisted it by clenching his fists. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, “for everything.” 

_Everything_ , he thought, feeling his eyes burn. 

Orihime shook her head. “I was just doing my job,” she said quietly, and...had she inched closer? He could have sworn for a second that she had. That she was standing way too close for comfort, but she had sprung back and was now regarding him curiously, so the moment was broken before it even began. _If_ there was a moment at all. 

“Uh,” Ichigo said, feeling heat carrying through his pulse. _This wasn’t fair_. He took a deep breath. “So, what’s on the agenda for P.I today?” 

They stared at each other for a moment. 

“Oh, I can’t do this anymore,” she cried, grabbing his wrist and dragging him over to the counter. He opened his mouth, then closed it when he saw her eyes shining up at him. “I’ve been thinking about us. A lot. And Ishida-san talked to me last night as well.”

Ichigo blinked rapidly, like that would clear out the fog in his ears. “What? _Ishida_ said something?”

She nodded, then sighed. “Ichigo, I’m sorry I doubted you, that was a horrible thing for me to do–”

“Don’t say that,” he interjected roughly, “You had every reason not to believe me.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Besides, I shouldn’t have been a coward in making my feelings clearer. _I’m_ sorry, Orihime”

Orihime frowned. “So,” she started, “We’re both sorry?” 

Ichigo chuckled awkwardly. “I guess?” He stared at Orihime for a moment, feeling a weight lift off his chest. When he remembered everything else, however, he frowned. “Orihime, if anyone finds out that you know about–” 

She reached forward and tentatively brushed his arm, a knowing look in her eyes. His stomach warmed at the contact, but he remained still.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised firmly. “Anything that comes after that, I can deal with it.” 

He shook his head. “It’s not fair to you,” he insisted, feeling his throat get scratchy. “I can’t just leave and put this all on you; it’s wrong.” 

There was no guarantee that anything ill would befall her, but he couldn’t stand the thought of people soiling her reputation and doubting her integrity. He just couldn’t. Not when she was so smart, so good at what she did, so likeable –

“You can’t wait two years for your appeal to go to court either,” she said, crossing her arms. “Not when an innocent man is waiting for his grandson on the other side.” 

Ichigo gaped. “He told you _everything_?” 

Orihime nodded, then bit her lip. “Knowing what I know...I won’t lie to you, I feel really guilty about hiding it from the authorities,” she confessed in a small voice, and his heart tightened. But when she looked up, her eyes were contemplative. “But I meant what I said earlier about you not deserving to be here. Even if I don’t like the means, I still want that for you.” 

He closed his eyes. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved.” 

_Minimum casualties,_ he remembered himself saying, so long ago. But he should have known, should have anticipated that he’d eventually have to pay his dues for this. 

And yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to call it a mistake. The hesitance was all too familiar. 

“You should stop worrying about me,” Orihime pointed out, only half-joking.

“When hell freezes over,” he growled in response. 

She pouted. 

“What?” he demanded.

“You can’t say things like that and expect me to fall out of love with you,” she complained in a small voice, staring at her fingernails to hide her deep blush. “There’s no off-button for something like that.” 

That was all too true in his case, as well – the sweet ache behind his teeth, his fingertips, his stupid heart. It was both overwhelming and heartbreaking how they resonated and ran parallel to each other. She was just as in it as he was now, and as much as he hated the idea of her getting hurt or in trouble, he’d just have to find a way to let that _not_ happen. His eyes blazed in determination, heart already set on renewing the vows he’d made to protect her. 

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he promised, cupping her face with both hands so she could look up at him. “I _will_ protect you, Orihime.”

Orihime smiled, tiptoeing as he felt his hands drawing her closer. “I’ll protect you too,” she whispered. 

Something intense and violent swirled in his belly at her words, at the sheer sincerity and warmth of it. They’d come this far, walked into an uncertainty neither of them had anticipated. But they had done it _together_ , all their insecurities and fears lining up like two puzzle pieces in the unlikeliest of places. 

Ichigo leaned down and kissed her, hard and hungry, like they hadn’t in ages. Orihime careened up to meet him, hands grabbing at his shirt. She was so dizzy, so faint, she could barely keep up with what she was doing. Ichigo’s hands were warm even through her clothes, tracing the outlines of her bra, her waist, her neck...seemingly every place he could get his hands on. 

“I missed you,” he confessed in her ear, dragging her hair back with his hands so he could kiss her ear, the skin below it. She shivered, feeling the slightest sharp of teeth on her skin. 

She tugged him backwards so her butt was half on the counter. A small part of her sounded the alarm, cried _‘danger, danger!’_ as she kissed him back, but she’d missed him too and she’d worn her weathered heart on her sleeve for so long, the backdraft of it was too fierce to ignore. She locked her arms around his shoulders, a giddy thrill rushing through her when he hugged her back.

“I missed you too,” she whispered, when they pulled apart. 

“I’m sorry,” he confessed, and Orihime found herself quite liking the darkening blush on his cheeks. His eyes were warm and kind, glinting so bright she could see herself in them. She shook her head, then gave him a tiny kiss on his eyebrow. 

Someone cleared their throat rather loudly in the background. 

Orihime slid her hands from Ichigo’s neck and shoved him, hurriedly bringing her thin strap back up her shoulder. Ichigo, still stunned, stumbled a few feet backwards. 

“Good morning!” she cheered to a now-awake Ishida, a little too bright and chipper for the room. 

“I’ll bet,” Ishida said stiffly, eyes drifting back and forth between Ichigo and Orihime. For a second, none of them spoke. Ichigo, feeling slightly hysterical from the events of the previous night and this morning, almost laughed.

“I should go get started for the day,” Orihime said slowly, slipping off the counter and rushing away to hide her burning face. Ichigo and Ishida watched her bolt to her office, nearly tripping on a dozen things to get there. 

Ichigo sighed, before coming up to Ishida’s bedside. “Ishida,” he said solemnly, staring down at his friend. "How are you holdin’ up?" 

"I'll live," Ishida said firmly, like he had no other choice. 

Ichigo nodded, then, “I...I’m sorry I called you selfish. It’s pretty damn far from what you are.” 

Ishida’s eyes widened, then relaxed. “I apologize for interfering in your relationship as well, Kurosaki,” he begrudged. “It appears you and Dr. Inoue are quite, erm, invested in each other. It might be impossible to keep you apart." 

Ichgio’s face flamed. “I can’t believe you told her everything,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “Whatever happened to lecturing me for my bullshit?”

Ishida shrugged. “She already knew half the story. I just had to make sure she was on our side.” He glanced at her. “You know, I’m quite taken by her, Kurosaki.” 

Ichigo raised his eyebrows. “You two make fast friends?” 

Ishida gave him a smug smirk. “I told her all my _'Kurosaki's Greatest Hits'_ stories, if that's what you're asking, yes." 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "At this point I'm surprised she still likes me," he muttered, with a faint blush tracing his cheeks. 

"Count your blessings," Ishida retorted, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Taking a quick peek around his surroundings, he withdrew his hand to his pocket and fished out the screw surreptitiously. 

Ichigo reached forward, his own hand coming down to take it. When the slightly warm metal was passed over, he made a face.

“I just realized,” he started slowly, “This just came from your ass, didn’t it?”

Ishida spluttered, eyebrows knit in annoyance. “There have been worse things,” he pointed out indignantly. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Ichigo snapped, shoving the tool back in his pocket just as Orihime came back to the infirmary. “I, uh, I’m gonna go...” He tilted his head towards her.

Ishida simply snorted. 

Ichigo approached her, watching as she ran her hands under the cool stream of water. She was back in her white coat again, face etched in seriousness as she slipped on her gloves and pinned up her hair. He waited for her patiently by the sink. 

When she turned to him with a small smile, he straightened. “So,” he said, crossing his arms. “The tasks for today…” 

Orihime tapped her chin seriously, like she was thinking. Then she leaned forward secretively, turning left and right, before whispering, “Hanataro is on leave, you know.”

If there was a way for all the color in his face to both fill and drain simultaneously, he was sure it was happening right now. 

“Oh,” he said faintly. 

She grinned. “Wanna read manga with me for an hour?” 

The rational side of Ichigo wanted to protest, considering he was supposed to be working and this was definitely an undue advantage. But she had this dorky grin on her face, all crinkled and toothy, and he thought: who the hell was he to deny her, anyway?

He feigned nonchalance, however, with a shrug. “As long as it's not vampire romance.” 

She laughed, about to leave him to go grab her book. He caught her wrist gently, however, and she made a curious noise as she halted. 

“I’m glad we’re talking again because,” he coughed, then braved a glance at her, “I did something...uh, I arranged for them to show Godzilla this Friday–and I know you’ve probably been on better dates, but–”

“I’d love to,” she said earnestly, her eyes brimming with nothing but enthusiasm. 

Ichigo’s eyes widened, scrutinizing her face for judgment or pity. But there was none of it. He nodded, lips struggling to fight a half-smile. 

“So,” he heaved a sigh, “about that manga you were talking about…” 


	18. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for Ichigo to deliver on his promises of a date. Given the circumstances, he can only hope it goes as well as he's hoping it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: tooth-rotting fluff

In the days that led up to movie night, Orihime could hardly contain the seemingly permanent blush on her cheeks. Things had settled back into routine, with Ichigo coming around for P.I again, but they were also...different. While he would carry out his chores dutifully and make light conversation with her and Hanataro like nothing had changed, he would slip copied-out pages of poetry and leave them by her desk before he left. 

The contents, be it Neruda, or Shakespeare, or even the occasional Whitman, often left her heady and weak-kneed – _wanting_.

It was overwhelming, to say the least. It felt personal, the length Ichigo would go to embed in poetry the words they couldn’t always say to each other. 

Brushing the day’s poem into a carefully preserved shoebox under her desk, she straightened.

Whenever Orihime tried to match his fervor with her own actions, he’d brush her off or vehemently refuse anything she offered to give him. She pouted. She was feeling rather spoiled with the affection he gave her abundantly, in his own, special way. She wanted to return the favor. 

“Heading out?” Hanataro asked, watching her from his place at the counter. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you _not_ working overtime.” He glanced out of the window exaggeratedly. “It’ll probably rain today, for all you know.” 

“Oh, hush,” Orihime chided, gathering her contents and stuffing it in her bag. “I thought I’d catch up on some rest. I...heard it was movie night, later tonight, so I might stop by.” 

Truthfully, she wanted to get home early so she could get ready for her date. While she knew she couldn’t exactly be extravagant or as dolled up as she’d be for a regular date with Ichigo – considering where they were– she still wanted to be presentable, at the least. All those hours spent in the infirmary did little for her hair or her skin and she didn’t want Ichigo to think she was taking this lightly. 

Hanataro giggled, shaking his head, “It’s not very glamorous,” he said, “I’m sure you’d have better things to do on a Friday night, Doctor-san.” 

She thought about Ichigo, at the prospect of hearing his weary opinions and good-natured grumbling, and smiled. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, Hanataro,” she said sweetly, looking over her shoulder as she approached the door. “Something tells me tonight might be fun.” 

**__________**

Ichigo stepped out of the steam of the showers, towel tightly wrung across his waist. From the cubicle adjacent to his, Ishida emerged at the same time. They fell in line with each other as they approached the lines of uniforms folded and placed on the long, wooden benches. 

“Where are we on the plan?” Ichigo murmured. With all the new developments, from the shakedown to Ishida’s recovery, they had lost a few good days that could have gone into strategizing. Not that Ichigo was _too_ upset about it, but it was important to keep track nonetheless.

“All I’m waiting for is a twine of rope,” Uryu explained, shrugging on his clothes. “If that falls into place, we can start picking out dates. Setting things into motion.”

“Twine of rope?” Ichigo echoed, rubbing his hair and neck with a scratchy towel as Chad came up on his left. “What do we need that for?” 

Ishida glanced at their surroundings briefly, before leaning down so only Ichigo and Chad could hear them. “The pipe from the doctor’s office leads to an 18-feet drop, where the prison’s sewer water connects out with the ocean. The rope should make our descent easier.” 

Suddenly, they felt the _‘thwack’_ of a hand on their backs. 

“Not starting without me, are you?” Shinji asked, stepping into their space, a little too close for comfort. “Hope you haven’t forgotten about ol’ Shinji just yet.” 

“How could we?” Ichigo muttered dryly, under his breath, “You won’t give us the chance to.” 

Ishida and Chad snorted. Long past the regret of their mistakes, they had accepted that Shinji was a thorn in their side that they would simply have to put up with if they wanted to get out of here. 

Shinji rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “When are we heading out, anyway?” he asked, following the three cellmates out of the common showers. They stopped for a pat down, then proceeded straight into the main corridors. 

“Initially, we had decided on the night of the 2nd,” Ishida explained, shoving his hands in his pocket. “The neap tide would have tempered the waters, making it relatively safe for us to swim. But because of the recent storm…”

“The waters will be dangerously high,” Chad finished, with a frown. 

“Precisely,” Ishida replied grimly.

“Well, then I say we postpone the trip by a few days,” Shinji proposed, “Wait until the water level is good for a swim.” 

Chad and Ishida looked stricken. Ichigo regarded them and sighed,

“We’ve wasted enough time already,” he explained calmly, shaking his head at Shinji, “We’re just going to have to risk it.” 

Shinji shrugged, giving them a sleazy grin. “They didn’t call me ‘sidestroke Shinji’ in high school for nothin’” he declared, before skipping away. His figure bounced from left to right joyously, joining another group of inmates before disappearing around the corner for good. 

“If he sets us back, I’ll kill him with my bare hands,” Ishida muttered, shaking his head. 

“Spoken like a true con,” Ichigo remarked, catching Chad grinning fondly between the two of them. “What?”

Chad shook his head. They began trudging up to their cells together. 

**__________**

“We heard _someone_ was going on a date,” Yumichika announced, flaunting his way into cell #42. Ikkaku was close on his heels, though he seemed a tad disinterested compared to his counterpart. 

Ishida pointed at Ichigo without looking up from his book. Over at the mirror, Ichigo was prodding at his eyebrows distastefully, a deep frown etched on his face. He was eyeing his facial hair, contemplating whether or not he had enough to merit a shave. 

“ _Kurosaki’s_ going on a date?” Ikkaku commented, a little slow on the uptake. “With who?” 

“With _whom_.” Ishida corrected, irritably. 

Ikkaku frowned, bringing his hands up. “S’what I _just_ asked.”

“Oh, for the love of–” 

“It’s not a date,” Ichigo muttered, running his hands through his hair for the millionth time. 

“Oh dear,” Yumichika cooed, shaking his head pitifully at Ichigo’s form. He was wearing his uniform, dull gray button-up shirt over a plain, white pullover. He had his simplistic navy blue trousers on underneath, a disaster of a color scheme. 

“Is it that bad?” Ichigo scowled, regarding himself a little self-consciously. 

“It’s prison, Kurosaki,” Ishida droned, “We don’t exactly have a closet full of options. Besides, if the doctor fell in love with you regardless of your daily, unkempt attire, I highly doubt her standards are that high in the first place.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Ichigo muttered sarcastically, flipping him off. 

“Maybe take off the uniform shirt?” Chad suggested, leaning against the bed to regard Ichigo.

Ichigo paused, then began unbuttoning his shirt. He felt a little uncomfortable being watched by Ikkaku, Yumichika, Ishida _and_ Chad, like he was some kind of exhibit in an aquarium and they were waiting with bated breaths for something to happen. When his shirt slipped dramatically off his shoulders, he looked up at them expectantly. 

Ikkaku snorted. 

Chad frowned. 

Ishida shook his head. 

Yumichika looked absolutely _scandalized_.  
  
  


“Oh, this simply cannot do,” he cried, stepping forward to assess Ichigo critically, “You look like a _youth pastor_ in that V-neck, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo seethed. “If anyone has any _other_ suggestions?” he said through gritted teeth, crossing his arms. 

Ikkaku shrugged. 

Yumichika, however, turned him around his shoulders. “Maybe take your undershirt off and wear a vest,” he suggested, with a small frown. “It is true that you don’t have a lot of options, but you can always make do with what you _do_ have.” 

“And what’s that?” Ichigo asked, his voice muffled as he began taking off his shirt. He quickly pulled his vest from his bed and slipped it overhead, before turning to Yumichika with a questioning frown. 

Yumichika slapped his bare biceps. “These bad boys!” he cheered, seeming mightily satisfied with his solution. “If the doctor’s only been exposed to city boys, you can sweep her off her feet with all this unseen muscle.” 

“Hell yeah,” Ikkaku replied, flaunting his own. 

Ichigo didn’t bother saying she _had_ seen a lot of unseen muscle of his; Yumichika knowing about their relationship was bad enough, he didn’t need more rumors spreading around and endangering them further. 

Ichigo raised his eyebrows, appraising himself in the mirror doubtfully. All said and done, he didn’t exactly look _bad_. Wearing a vest was a lot better than showing up after hours in _uniform_ , anyway. Even if he felt a little exposed. 

The insecurity of the moment was far overridden by his excitement, however. Somewhere on the other side, Orihime was probably getting ready for their first date and that made his stomach swell in anticipation. 

Loud banging on his cell door snapped him out of it. 

“How many times we gotta tell you not to loiter after dinner?” Iba asked, staring pointedly at Ikkaku with a baton in hand. Ikkaku made a threatening face at him. 

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving,” Yumichika singsonged, side-stepping out of Iba’s way and dragging Ikkaku with him. Once they were out of the cell, he looked over his shoulder and winked, “Have fun at movie night!” 

Ichigo shook his head, ignoring the blush starting to form at his cheeks. 

Was Orihime there already? He hoped tonight wouldn’t be too much of a letdown for her. 

“That’s right, Kurosaki,” Iba said suddenly, like he just remembered, “They’re setting up shop right about now, so get your ass outta here.” He banged the cell door again, and then departed down the walkway. 

Ichigo sighed, wiping his sweat down on his pants. He regarded Ishida and Chad with a nod. “I’m outta here.” 

“Tell Dr. Inoue we said hi,” Chad replied, with a wave. Ishida nodded in agreement. Just as Ichigo was stepping out of his cell, Chad grabbed him by the shoulder, voice low enough for only the two of them to hear. “Forget about everything else tonight, Ichigo. Just...enjoy each other.” 

Ichigo’s eyes widened, then softened with a smile. No doubt, Chad still felt guilty about the urgency of his situation, but they both knew Ichigo was adamant about burdening his own shoulders with the problems of his friends anyway. And it seemed like, for one night, the universe had somehow bent and forged until it threw a free pass into his lap. Just for one night. 

“We will,” he promised, clapping Chad on his shoulder. 

And then he was out of there, headed to go see what all this fuss around Godzilla was about. 

  
  


**__________**

Seireitei didn’t show movies often, but when they did, it was in this old, box-like office tucked into the far end of the common canteen. A ground floor room, it housed nearly thirty, rackety plastic chairs that aimed to serve as seats. A tiny, outdated projector was settled into a glass cubicle, the luminance of the film vectoring to a screen. 

When Ichigo walked into the room, he was surprised to see how empty it was. Spare one or two inmates dawdling around, there didn’t seem to be that much of a hype for the week’s movie. 

Usually, from his experience, the only movies that seemed to garner any kind of attention at all were the famous American ones, or the classic slapstick comedies. He’d occasionally caught Shunsui in here, for the more niche, foreign films. Chad and Ishida often accompanied him when he wanted to watch _Scarface_. But tonight, it was mostly empty. 

Ichigo wasn’t complaining, though. The fewer the occupants in the room, the more leeway he would have to sit next to Orihime and go unnoticed. He picked a chair in the far back of the office, testing his palm over the surface of the adjacent ones in hopes that he could find something sturdy and comfortable for Orihime. 

Speaking of, she hadn’t turned up yet. 

He did another quick glance around the room, noticing how Iba was the guard in-charge for the night. And, to Ichigo’s surprise, he seemed to have roped Dr. Kotetsu into joining him. He hoped whatever _that_ was – most likely an awkward work-date attempt by Iba – would distract him enough to stave his attention off of himself and Orihime. 

Ichigo sighed, settling back into his chair. As he waited, he counted all the cracks on the ceilings, the little rips in the carpet below. Wow, he had never seen that bald guy before. His hair loss could give _Ikkaku_ competition. 

Ichigo swiveled his head around again. _Where the hell was she?_ He wondered. Surely she would show? What if she had gotten lost? 

He felt a sudden twinge of panic. What if she _had gotten lost?_ Shit! He should have told her, drawn her a map or something. A wave of doom began crashing over him when new, indistinct inmates started piling in. That feeling increased tenfold when the lights flickered off and Iba got up to go close the door. 

Still no sign of Orihime. 

He almost stood up, risked telling Iba to hold the curtains for a damn minute, when a slight squeal came from behind the fast closing door. One dainty hand slithered through, holding its fingers out to signal its entry. Iba quickly stepped out of the way and opened the door, the new flood of light revealing _her_ standing in the doorway. Orihime. 

Ichigo let out a heavier breath of relief than he knew he was holding in. Though, looking at her now, his breath was again slowly departing him. Despite the prison’s dress code regulations, she had managed to outshine in her beige coat and high-waisted jeans, a pretty little thing that tucked in her dark sweater. 

He frowned, wondering why she was so heavily covered when the weather was hardly that cold. If they were put together, he was sure any passerby would have a hard time discerning what the actual temperature was. 

Orihime was here, nonetheless. And now that _that_ debacle was over, the challenge was in getting her attention without unintentionally attracting Iba’s. Ichigo straightened in his seat as discreetly as possible, hoping that would signal his location to her.

Luckily for him, Orihime seemed to be searching for him too. The golden loops dangling from her ears shook as she kept turning around, then bobbed in delightful recognition when she spotted him. Laughing to herself lightly, she began stepping over other rows of chairs to come join him. 

As she got closer, however, Ichigo noticed something was up. While one hand was in her coat pocket, there seemed to be bulges emerging from...odd places. She _crinkled_ when she moved. She looked slightly bulkier than usual, and if she hadn’t been wearing some sort of ankle length boots, he would have accused her of wobbling. 

He held Orihime’s chair out for her as she approached. She wheezed out a quick _‘thank you’_ and collapsed straight into the seat. 

“Hey,” Ichigo whispered, leaning into her. “Are you alright?” 

“Just fine,” she quipped, catching her breath. She turned around back and forth, double-checking to ensure no one was looking at her. Then, when the projector’s lights reeled on with a slow whir, she turned to him. “Sorry I’m late–” she whispered. 

He was just about to brush off her apology, when she revealed the inside of her coat to him,

“– I was trying to sneak in some snacks for you,” she explained, looking up at him, flushed. In the darkness of the room, he could still make out the cheesy grin on her face, looking all for the world like a top-notch criminal who had pulled off a heist. 

He shook his head, ignoring the flood of affection blooming in his chest. “You didn’t have to,” he said quietly, helping her take her coat off without spilling over the packets of candy and potato chips. 

“You spoil me all the time,” she pointed out, with a small frown. Then, she lowered her lashes, let her smile go purposefully coy and timid as she spoke. “It would make me feel better if you accepted this.” 

Ichigo swallowed, and then nodded begrudgingly as he took a bag of chips into his lap. 

_Victory!_ She thought, feeling satisfied. Once they were settled, she undid the banana clip keeping her hair in place, tucking her legs under her thighs. 

On screen, the opening credits had just begun. If Orihime found it odd that she was in a state-level penitentiary, _on a date_ , she gave no indication. There was a serene, excited look on her face as she split open a bag of gummy bears between them. She popped one into her mouth and made a fishy-face at Ichigo, collapsing into giggles at her own silly behavior. Then, she turned back to regard the screen with heightened interest.

Ichigo’s heart clenched. He craned his head over his shoulder to check on Iba. When he saw the man still deep in conversation with Dr. Kotetsu, he slowly leaned back and let his arm rest behind the head of her chair. The cold metal sent a shiver up his spine. It was _chilly_ in here. He wondered if it was such a good idea after all to listen to Yumichika. 

Orihime peeled her eyes away from the screen. “You okay?” she murmured. 

He ran his hands up his bare arms for a second, then shook himself off. “Just cold,” he replied. 

She quirked her eyebrow. “Why aren’t you in your pullover?” she asked, bunching her coat up with her hands. “Do you want to wear this?” 

He regarded her coat – her _weapon_ to sneak in snacks for him – with a grimace. When he looked back up at her, an idea flashed in his mind. He glanced at Iba again, then inched closer to Orihime to the point where half his butt was resting on his chair, half on hers. He gently put his arm around her shoulders, dragging her to his chest. 

He felt her sigh, before resting her hand on his abdomen. “Is this better?” she murmured, feeling a faint blush on her cheeks. 

He grinned, thankful that the low light had granted him this blessing in disguise. “Yeah.” 

As it turned out, this position was both wonderful and torturous because every time a particularly interesting scene came up, Orihime would point out some wacky behind-the-scenes detail about the movie or the actors, low in his ear ( _“That’s actually a guy in a big suit”_ or _“A cast member almost died filming this”)_ . At this rate, he was only half-watching the movie, far more entertained by her gasping and squealing commentary. The fact that he was enjoying outside food after years of chalky gravy was only an added bonus. 

Ichigo curled one hand around her rib, leaning slightly away so he could watch her face during a particularly intense action scene of Godzilla tearing through the city. Her mouth was in a seemingly permanent ‘O,’ the lion’s share of her snacks already wolfed down in her enthusiasm. 

In the shifting light of the film, he could see every curve of eyelash, every blotch of birthmark that distinguished her to a point where he’d know her anywhere, eyes half-open or not at all. 

“Orihime,” he muttered, bringing her head closer so his mouth rested on her ear. 

“Hmm?” She wriggled, feeling slightly tickled. 

“I love you,” he confessed, feeling the subsequent shudder from her body in his own bones. 

Orihime sucked in a sharp breath, turning to regard him in awe. Pink smeared over her cheeks, like spilled ink on parchment, and it was perhaps the most lovely he’d seen her in the time they’d known each other. 

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice going thin and watery before she turned to the screen again. And though she was watching the movie, he had a feeling the gears in her brain were shifting and grinding onto something else. 

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then slightly shrank away so she could focus on the movie. 

If anyone accused him of being sappy, they’d have another thing coming. 

  
  


**__________**

At the end of the day, the prison version of Godzilla was watered down with many scene cuts to accommodate both the prison timings, and the rating requirements. And while the scenes weren’t cut perfectly or coherently, it wasn’t a bad movie altogether. Although they probably shouldn’t have named the movie after the kaiju if the kaiju was going to, well, die. 

But that was just his opinion. 

As the credits began rolling, Ichigo knew he would only have a split second of privacy with Orihime before the lights came back on. Beside him, it seemed Orihime was thinking the same thing as she was shrugging her coat on her shoulders. All the snack wrappers had surreptitiously disappeared back behind her jeans’ pockets and even the seams of her shoes.

It belatedly occurred to Ichigo that it must _not_ have been comfortable for her to bring those in. 

“Did you like the movie?” Orihime asked, arching her head to the side as she stretched. 

“Yeah, I did,” he replied, spotting Iba at his peripheral, heading over to the switchboard. “I–” 

“Ichigo –” Orihime stopped, then flushed. They both stared at each other. 

“Sorry, go ahead,” he said, gesturing ahead of him hurriedly.

Orihime followed his sight, then realized there wouldn’t be enough time for them to talk, now that the lights were going to come back on. 

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, swooping in to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “I had a great time.” 

Just as Ichigo was about to lean in to give her a kiss of his own, the overhead lights came on. He stopped midway, blinking owlishly. His already puckered lips fell into an embarrassed scowl.

“Alright, wrap it up, movie night is over,” Iba announced loudly, patting his baton against his palm. “Keep it moving!” 

Inmates began to mechanically rise from their seats. Ichigo shot Orihime an apologetic look, but she was already scrambling up and grabbing her purse so they wouldn’t be spotted together. She looked left and right, then fit seamlessly among the horde of inmates and nightly prison staff that were retreating, sparing him only a quick glance as she headed to the door. 

Had they been outside, he would have probably driven her himself back to her apartment. Or even taken her out for a late dinner, so they could talk some more. But he wasn’t about to push his luck, and all said and done, tonight had been great. There was no point dwelling on the possibilities when he already had a good thing going for him right now. 

Ichigo began walking up the aisle. At the door, he noticed Orihime had stopped to talk to Iba and Dr. Kotetsu. As he passed, he brushed his thumb against the back of her wrist, watching her stubbornly suppress a surprised shiver. 

“Drive safe,” he muttered, low enough for just her to hear it. 

Between snippets of conversation passing by, he turned over his shoulder to see her nod her head slightly. Her cheeks were a timid shade of pink, hands gripping her bag tightly. 

Feeling a small smile quirk up his lips, he left her there to head back to his cell.


	19. Without Problems or Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were a lot of things Ichigo wanted to do, but for now he settles on tying up loose ends and saying his goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII' by Pablo Neruda, no I will not take criticism.

Yuzu’s baby spoke now. 

Granted, it was only short phrases or mostly calls to his mother, but he spoke. He didn’t even exist, when Ichigo had just been incarcerated, but he sat on his mother’s lap now, with tufts of ginger hair and newly learned phrases babbled – phrases that Ichigo hadn’t been around to see, or teach, or listen to. 

Yuzu Ito ( _née Kurosaki)_ herself had grown, the tired mother glow seemingly evident on her face. Karin, beside her, looked pretty much the same as before, if not her hair being a few inches longer. They’d spent all of the morning chatting, getting Ichigo acquainted with Yohei – Yuzu’s son.

Now, as visitation nearly came to an end, Ichigo’s temperament grew somber. 

“Cheer up, Ichi-nii,” Karin said, crossing her arms with a slight smirk, “We’ll come see you next weekend, no need to go sour on us.” 

“Yeah,” Yuzu chimed brightly, bobbing Yohei up and down on her lap as he grew restless. “And then maybe you can introduce us to this _‘someone’_ you met.” 

Ichigo groaned. He should have known that sitting his sisters down and telling them of his new life developments – _“I met someone”_ – would come with endless teasing and jeering. Hell, he wasn't even sure if they believed him. But they were here and they were the most important people in his life, so he took it in stride with only minor scowling. He hadn’t been around to bully Yuzu’s boyfriends, go to Karin’s games, celebrate his nephew’s first birthday or even his own graduation. So what little joys he could share, they were worth the mild teasing. 

“Yeah, listen...about that,” he started, glancing around at the guards before leaning closer. Yohei Ito looked up at him curiously, his mother and aunt having near identical expressions on their faces, as well. Ichigo sighed. “I’m not gonna be here.”

Yuzu and Karin blinked. Yohei’s attention moved on. The nuances of adulthood were lost on his little, active mind. 

“Not gonna be here?” Yuzu echoed in confusion. 

“Where the hell are you gonna go?” Karin demanded, raising her eyebrows. “It’s not like you’ve got a packed schedule.” 

Ichigo bit his lip, then brought his hands up to his table. “Yuzu, Karin,” he said slowly, “I want you both to know I’m really proud of you. This life you’ve built...it’s incredible. It’s complete. I don’t want you to think you’re missing out on something or waiting for something just because I’m here, alright? I want you to be happy.” 

It was something he had said repeatedly throughout his sentence, but knowing his sisters, he could tell there was always that sparkle of hope they carried around as they went around their normal lives. And if what he was doing was to be done, he had to extinguish it. 

Karin looked dubious. 

Yuzu, however, grew tearful. Her bottom lip trembled dangerously as she scrutinized Ichigo’s face. “Onii-chan, why does this sound like a goodbye?” 

“Because it probably is,” Karin snapped, before turning to Ichigo harshly. “What the fuck are you upto, Ichi-nii?” 

Ichigo groaned, then grabbed both his sisters' hands. “It’s not important,” he brushed off, ignoring their loud scoffs. “When the police get around to asking questions, I want you to tell them you came down here to cut off ties with me. That you have no idea what I was upto or how I was doing and you didn’t care.” 

“Onii-chan–”

“You’re breaking out, aren’t you?” Karin hissed under her breath, narrowing her eyebrows at him. Ichigo was only slightly relieved that she had the tact not to blurt it out loud for the guards to hear. 

He ignored both his sisters’ outbursts, squeezing their hands to shush them. “Promise me you’ll tell them what I told you.” 

Karin rolled her eyes. “You want us to lie to the police?” 

“I want you to tell them what you know,” Ichigo emphasized, “which is _nothing_.” 

Yuzu and Karin exchanged glances. Yohei played with a lint of dust on his finger. 

“Onii-chan, if you’re in trouble,” Yuzu began, eyes glinting, but hands dutifully wiping her son’s finger, “Tell us how to help. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll figure it out.” 

Karin nodded in agreement. 

Ichigo felt his mouth warp into a bright smile, fake and reassuring as he ruffled their hair. “It’s not your job to look out for me,” he said, hoping his cheer was enough to convince them not to worry, “Hell, worry about oyaji. He’s not getting any younger.” 

Yuzu laughed lightly, resting her hand on her son’s head. Karin shook her head, but decided to let it go. 

They moved onto other things – work, family, and friends. Underneath the flow of the conversation, the heavy undertones began dissipating. Things were familiar again, as familiar as it could get with the distance and the strain of the last few years. Once it was time to go, however, the tension slowly began seeping in again. 

As the guard called out for the inmates to head back, Ichigo and his sisters stood up. Yuzu shifted Yohei onto one hip, before squeezing Ichigo with a tight side hug. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, then whispered, “I love you, onii-chan.” 

Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut, returning her hug and giving her son a small peck on his head. Then, Karin came around and tackled him with a full barrel-hug that lasted longer and harder than she would admit. And though she had grown, had changed, Ichigo would have liked to think her hands still remained the same. Tiny and sister-like on his back. 

When she pulled apart, she muttered, “Will we ever see you again?” 

“One day, maybe,” Ichigo replied, knocking the top of her head with his chin. “If things blow over.” 

No promises, keeping their expectations down low like he’d been doing all this time, these last few years. 

Karin nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. They glanced at Yuzu teaching Yohei how to say goodbye to his uncle. She looked back at him curiously. “Does she know?” she asked quietly. “Your lady friend?” 

Ichigo met her gaze, then nodded. 

She scoffed. “Must be some kinda friend, then,” she commented, her voice low and scratchy. 

Ichigo didn’t say anything in reply. 

Then, the time had come. His sisters began preparing to leave. When the guard called out again, they both threw themselves against him again in a big, bear hug. 

“Relax,” Ichigo said with a strained chuckle, giving them both a slight squeeze before pointedly letting go, “I’ll be fine. Tell Dad I’m okay.” 

They nodded, then retreated back to where the other visitors were slowly exiting the room. Ichigo watched, feeling slightly relieved. Though the weight of his future actions had settled grimly on his chest, he’d sort of unloaded the baggage from the past. 

All that was left now was to take the big leap. 

**__________**

  
  


“On the night of the 31st, you’ll have to figure out how to escape your cell and enter ours,” Ishida explained to Shinji, over the trays of food in between them, “The guards start count at cell _#73_ before moving upwards. Based on my calculations, it takes approximately two minutes for them to move from cell to cell. That’s an hour we have to escape through our hole, head to the doctor’s office, and start making our way down the pipe before the guards figure out something’s amiss.”

Ichigo whistled, trying to do the math in his head but failing. He was sure, once the actual escape set into motion, his hands-on approach would come to fruition. 

“Right,” Shinji folded his arms, “So that’s...nine o’ clock?” 

Ishida nodded. 

“Will your guy be able to meet us then?” Chad asked quietly, from his spot opposite Ichigo. 

“Morgue loadin’ and unloadin’ usually happens at eight,” Shinji remarked, rubbing his chin grimly, “but I can talk Kensei into delaying it by an hour.” 

Ichigo leaned forward. “What about after? Once the van exits the grounds?” 

“Our initial plan was to travel along the sea wall on foot, ducking against the shadows every two minutes the searchlight came on,” Ishida stated, ignoring Ichigo’s shocked frown, “But now that we have the van, we’re expecting Muguruma-san to drop us off at a nearby airstrip.” 

“Eh, Kensei will be a little hard to convince,” Shinji mused, propping his head on his chin, “We’ve been friends for years and he’s only willing to drop me as far as the byway.” 

“We’ll figure that out,” Ishida stated, with a thoughtless wave. 

“What’s at the airstrip?” Ichigo asked, through chews of gravy. 

“Mizuro,” Chad replied. When Ichigo raised his eyebrows, he elaborated further, “with a helicopter.” 

“Mm,” Shinji remarked, dipping his peas in a copious amount of gravy, “A tropical holiday with the lads, then?” 

“You’re not coming with, Hirako-san,” Ishida said immediately, glaring at him. “We agreed we would part ways once the van dropped us three,” he gestured to himself, Chad and Ichigo, “off at the airstrip. We are not obligated to help you any further after that.” 

Shinji raised his hands placatingly, a tiny grin on his face, “I was just curious, Uryu, don’t be a party-pooper,” he admonished, then rolled his eyes, “Not like I wanna be stuck with you losers anyway. I’ve got bigger plans.” 

“Like robbing a bank again?” Ichigo retorted, standing up to discard his tray. 

Shinji made a face of mock horror. “And add to the nation’s recidivism rate? I wouldn’t dare!” 

The other three chuckled, as Ishida and Chad got up to follow Ichigo out of the canteen. They stopped by the waste bin, dumping their discards in the trash. Once they began traipsing out of earshot and into the main courtyard, Ichigo turned to Chad and Ishida. 

“We’re not heading to Abuelo’s?” Ichigo asked. As far as he was aware, Chad’s grandfather lived at the edge of Tokyo’s border, in a small residential unit. Though, that seemed to be a dangerous option, considering the police would most definitely search the city once they escaped.

Chad shook his head. “Hisaka,” he replied quietly, looking around in caution as he lowered his head for them to hear, “Abuelo has a holiday house there.” 

Ishida nodded. “It’s discrete,” he explained, “Far from the mainland, low maintenance. Abuelo should be there, considering it was his ideal, erm, retirement home.” 

No one bothered to mention how that was the lighter term for ‘the home he wanted to die in.’ Ichigo felt a growing sense of dread in his belly, considering the event they had all planned for, had toiled and almost risked an organ for, was just around the corner. 

“If we’re leaving this weekend, I have to see Orihime,” Ichigo said, rubbing the back of his neck. The prospect of saying goodbye to Orihime had been a blurred future, one that he hadn’t prepared for in the slightest. But things were escalating, moving at a speed too rapid for him to process, and he realized the event he’d been pushing off had quite literally sprung one on him. “I’m gonna use the vent tonight.” 

“Absolutely not,” Ishida said immediately, eyebrows knitted in stern warning. Before Ichigo could open his mouth, he prattled on, “There are _guards_ at her door all through the night, Kurosaki. This isn’t exactly like P.I. If you get caught, you’re done for. If you don’t show up in time for count, we’re _all_ done for.”

“I have to see her, damn it,” Ichigo snapped, eyes burning a slow, aching trail all the way to his throat. 

He had to warn her. And he had to fucking say goodbye. Did Ishida not know how hard that was for him? 

“Ichigo,” Chad said solemnly, “If you get caught…”

“I won’t,” Ichigo said quickly, turning on his heel, “I swear. Fifteen minutes, that’s all I’m going to take. 

Ishida and Chad turned to each other with doubtful looks that were becoming more and more commonplace. They sighed in unison. 

“Fine,” Ishida said, shaking his head, “Fifteen minutes.”

**_________**

If there was a family Orihime loved more than the Teletubbies, it was the Abarais. She had spent all but an hour in their living room, looking onto a warm and modest family home, when she decided they were brilliant. 

It didn’t help that Renji’s wife – Kuchiki Rukia – was _so pretty._

“So you had to remove his entire spleen?” she asked, curling her legs on the settee they were both sharing. Her brilliantly violet eyes were wide with amusement, but also slightly glinting from the wine. 

“What’s a spleen?” Ichika murmured, from her place on the floor. Renji was sitting with her, though she didn’t seem too entertained by his botched attempts at tiring her out so they could put her to bed. There was a guest at home and Ichika wanted in. 

Orihime herself had to cut down on the alcohol, considering she had to return to the penitentiary soon, but she quite enjoyed sitting in the Abarais living room with Rukia. 

“Uh-huh,” she replied, sipping her apple juice delightfully, “It’s honestly not that uncommon, though.”

“The doc’s probably seen worse,” Renji said with a yawn, “Night of the riot, a guy came in with three remaining toes.” 

“Ewww,” Ichika blurted, but softened into giggles when Renji brought his giant foot to rest in her lap. When he wriggled his toes, she hooted even louder, her sharp, barely-there teeth prodding out of her mouth. 

“Gross, Renji,” Rukia agreed, crinkling her nose. 

“I think that’s enough shop talk for tonight, babe,” Renji said, tapping Rukia’s knee as he stood up. “I’ve got all the imagery I need to fuel nightmares.” 

“Weak,” Rukia scoffed, but her eyes were fond. 

One thing Orihime had surmised pretty quickly was that Rukia was not a sociable or amicable person but when she did warm up to someone, she was a lot goofier than she put on. And watching the two parents together, Orihime felt a strange sense of tranquil. They were good together. Peaceful.

“I’m gonna haul this one off to b-e-d,” Renji whispered to Rukia and Orihime, with a gleam in his eyes as he regarded Ichika. He nodded at Orihime as he bent down to pick her up, “We headin’ back after, doc?”

“Oh, yes I think we should,” Orihime said, setting her glass down on the table. “As much as I’d love to stick around, Kuchiki-san, we really should be clocking in for the night shift.” 

“Cool,” Rukia shrugged, getting up. She took Orihime’s empty glass from her and placed it in the kitchen sink, before beckoning Orihime to follow her, “I’ll walk you to the door.” 

“Goodnight, Ichika-chan,” Orihime cheered, bending a little to make direct eye contact with Ichika, from where she was nestled in Renji’s arms. “I hope we get to hang out again.” 

Ichika’s eyes widened. “And play with my new train set that you got me?” 

Orihime laughed at the fact that she was already referring to Orihime’s gift as hers. “Of course,” she said with an extra serious nod, patting the top of Ichika’s head. “We’ll save all the civilians from the big bad monsters together, too.” 

Ichika nodded grimly, seeming satisfied with this proposition. Then, she tossed her head over her father’s shoulder and impatiently bucked towards the inner corridors of their house, ready to settle for bed. Renji gave them a short wave and then took off towards the bedroom. 

Orihime and Rukia, in the meanwhile, walked over to the front door together. 

“So,” Rukia started, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, “What’s it like, working with Renji?” 

Orihime beamed. “He’s very fun and very good at his job,” she said promptly, tilting her head up to the corner, “So friendly, too. I’d definitely say he’s my second favorite person at the penitentiary!” 

Rukia shook her head, a short laugh spilling out of her. “Who’s the first?”

_Cripes!_ Orihime bit the inside of her cheek. She’d been doing so well all evening, holding back all the parts of herself that had been irrevocably touched by Ichigo, but it seemed she had taken it a little too easy. 

Thankfully, she was saved from having to answer when Renji came back up to the front door. He was pinning his radio to his uniform sleeve, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed both Rukia and Orihime were staring at him. “What?” 

“Nothing!” Orihime squeaked, desperate to keep the conversation moving along. “Say, Kuchiki-san, Abarai-san, how did you two meet?” 

It worked like a charm, because Renji wagged his eyebrows at Rukia, his tattoos bobbing up and down with them. “You wanna tell it or should I?” 

Rukia rolled her eyes at him. “I was doing a piece on corruption and abuse at state centers, back when I was a rookie,” she explained to Orihime, “Big doofus over here was working under my brother at the time, but we went out for a couple of drinks after and we kinda hit it off.”

“You seem to conveniently leave out the part where your brother threatened to kill me after the first few dates,” Renji cut in, grinning at Rukia’s scowl. He noticed Orihime’s confusion and his grin widened. “Big Bro Kuchiki was not happy his sister was poking her nose into his _‘occupational affairs’_ and he was even more upset when he found out she’d snagged his lowly adjutant in the process.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Rukia hissed, elbowing him in the side. She turned to Orihime with an indignant and defensive look on her face. “Brother was simply doing his job and I was doing mine. Renji was just an unforeseen consequence.”

“A _very good-looking_ unforeseen consequence,” Renji butted in, deeply enjoying Rukia’s adamant scoff but pink cheeks. 

“That sounds very dramatic,” Orihime noted, with an amused smile. 

“Tell me about it,” Renji muttered, lightly bonking Rukia’s head. Then, he nodded towards his patrol car, “Ready to go?” 

“Yes!” Orihime bowed to Rukia, then gave her a wide grin. “Thank you for having me over, Kuchiki-san! I had a lot of fun.” 

Rukia grinned. “Swing by anytime, Dr. Inoue,” she said, waving when Renji and Orihime stepped off into the lawn and towards his car. 

Once they were at a considerable distance, Renji set his hands on his hips and regarded her with a small smile. “It was great havin’ ya over, doc,” he said with a nod. “Ichika, especially, is probably gonna have a blast wrecking that train over and over again in the coming weeks.” 

Orihime laughed. “Pretending to be Godzilla and rampaging a city is almost a rite of passage for adolescents, Abarai-san,” she commented, slipping into the car as he unlocked the door handle on her side. 

_Oh?_ Renji remained rooted to his spot, a small frown forming on his face. 

“Are you coming?” her voice called out, muffled from the closed car doors. 

Renji snapped into movement, quickly sliding into the driver’s seat. Once he clicked his seatbelt into place, he watched her from the corner of his eye as he adjusted the overhead mirror. “You a fan, Dr. Inoue?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Godzilla,” he replied, ears straining cautiously despite his hands being steady as he revved up the engine.

“Big fan, Abarai-san!” Orihime cheered, pumping her hand victoriously in the air. “I love sci-fi, really, so Godzilla is just the tip of the iceberg.” 

“Huh.” Renji exhaled, making a mental note to ask Iba if he’d noticed anything interesting about the previous week’s movie night. Particularly of the Kurosaki kind. 

“Is everything alright, Abarai-san?” Orihime asked. Her eyes were wide in the low light of the patrol car, innocent. 

Renji sighed, feeling a little ball of dread drop in his stomach. On the outside, he shook his head. “Just tired, doc.” 

Whatever the kid had gotten herself into, Renji hoped she had the clarity to get herself out of it. 

Or there would be hell to pay and Renji wasn’t exactly sure _by whom_.

  
  
  


**__________**

  
  


The blurred lights from somewhere behind the grates sharpened into focus when Ichigo came closer to the vent. Beyond the iron bars, he could see the idle shuffle of feet in the doctor’s office. The faint smell of disinfectant pervaded his senses even from the low underground where he was standing. 

He peered cautiously, trying to make out if the coast was clear. The retreating sound of footsteps relieved him, so he began digging his fingers into the corners of the vent to pull it off. There was a loud, unlodging sound that rang through his ears. 

A loud gasp immediately followed. 

“Everything alright, Dr. Inoue?” came a gruff voice that cleared up like it had come closer. 

Iba. _Shit!_

Ichigo quickly sank back into the shadows, craning his head up just in time to see the back of Orihime’s shoe slam into the metal forcefully with a _‘clang!’_

Ichigo winced, but got the message straight and clear. _Wait_. 

“Everything’s fine, Iba-san!” Orihime squealed, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Must be my imagination getting the best of me, again!” 

“Alright,” Iba mumbled, then yawned, “It’s awfully late, isn’t it?” 

Ichigo rolled his eyes, letting out an impatient huff. Iba seemed awfully chatty today, which was really pushing on his already waning time. 

“Oh, quite,” Orihime agreed, however. “My sleep schedule is really off the charts these days, y’know...” 

“Good lord, tell me about it.”

Ichigo leaned up again. Through the grid work, all he could see were Orihime’s flats and Iba’s boots clicking against the tile floors. Despite the precarious situation, he felt a sudden urge to nip her ankle. He leaned forward, hiding in the space between her two calves. 

“And it’s fine most days, I really don’t mind the work,” Orihime was saying, “But Train Man was on the other day and I was upset I missed –” 

Ichigo’s tongue peeked out, the tip prodding her skin just so, turning her skin faintly wet. 

“– it,” she trailed off, her voice hitching as she seemingly caught his drift: _hurry up._ He heard her take a little breath, then her feet turned to Iba. “Anyway, Iba-san, I should probably block this area off for cleaning. It’s a contamination zone right now and I wouldn’t want you to catch something.” 

“Gotcha, doc,” Iba remarked, his feet already stepping back. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” 

Ichigo waited a few more minutes until Iba’s noises became completely muted. He watched the faint outline of a door closing, before Orihime’s feet drew closer to the vent. 

Ichigo yanked the vent off its hold, not holding his strength back this time. It came off easily, revealing a bright flood of light from the office. Ichigo blocked his eyes with one hand, staggering back. When his vision adjusted, he could see Orihime’s knees bend towards him. 

“Ichigo?” she whispered. 

He quickly clambered through, trying not to bump into her as he made his way up. Once he was standing in her office, he dusted himself off and quickly began scrambling to place the vent covering back on its holding. Orihime rushed to his side to help him, keeping one eye on the door as they worked in unison. 

Once it was back in place, Ichigo dusted his hands.

“Oh, I’m glad it was you,” Orihime said, with a relieved sigh as she wiped the dust off her forehead. 

Ichigo scowled. “You’re saying you opened the vent to whoever licked you without knowing who it was?” 

Orihime shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“Well, you never know,” she explained, when he raised his brows. “I was on a conspiracy theory chatboard the other day and it said there had been a few sightings of a very Japanese variant of the Loch Ness monster around these parts.” She gasped in alarm, making Ichigo’s shoulders tense as well. “Oh no, I think I might have implied to Ichika-chan – I went to Abarai-san’s house tonight, by the way. They have a very pretty place overlooking the bridge. Anyway, I might have told her we’ll fight monsters together, but I shouldn’t have encouraged that because mythical creatures are our friends and we should try to help them before we decide on attacking them.” She looked imperiled. “Do you think I violated the Hippocratic Oath?” 

Ichigo blinked, forgetting what he was here _for_ for a moment. “Uh, I think that only applies to human beings, Orihime,” he said slowly, his brain catching up and processing all parts of her rant. 

It seemed Orihime’s brain was catching up too, because she gasped loudly and dug her nails into his arm. “What are you doing here?!” she shrieked, yanking him out of view from the other inmates that were scheduled to a bed overnight. They hid behind a store closet that cloaked the view of the inside from the outside. “It’s after hours!”

“I came to see you,” he replied.

Her grip on his arm loosened, and she bit her lip worriedly. He had barely spoken, but she’d read him right-to-left yet again, like she could _sense_ something was wrong. 

He sighed. “Have you taken any leaves yet?” 

Orihime slipped her hand from his elbow to intertwine it with his. He squeezed. She squeezed back, then shook her head. 

“I need you to take the weekend off, then,” he said gently, “Go home. Stay away from the clinic.” 

Orihime’s eyes widened rapidly, then drew back again with her furrowed brows. “Is that when you’re doing it?” she whispered, looking over her shoulder even though it was only the two of them in here. 

Ichigo shook his head. “The less you know the better,” he said grimly. 

Orihime looked to the side for a long time. When she turned back to look at him, she appeared crestfallen. 

“Is this goodbye for us?” she asked slowly, her efforts to keep her voice steady all but failing. 

His chest tightened. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, running his hand up the softness of her wrist. The impending distance that would be – he could already feel it between them, cleaving his heart into two. Thinking of it made his stomach clench in the most painful way, so he tugged her to his chest to avoid the burn of it. 

Orihime’s hands came around his middle, her breath resorting into quick little hitches muffled into his shoulder. Ichigo pressed her head to his chest, tucking his own arms round her back as he squeezed his eyes shut. Her temple brushed against his jaw, and when her head pulled back to regard his, their cheeks were both wet. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted faintly, cupping her cheeks in his large hands. 

“Me neither,” she whispered, her hand coming on top of his. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her back so he could smoothen the stray hair at the top of her head with his fingers. 

_For their past or their future?_ Orihime wondered. 

“For getting you involved,” he replied, like he could see the question written in her eyes. He braced his hands on either side of her, squeezing her upper arms. “If anything happens, seek out Abarai, alright? He’ll help; he’s fond of you.” 

Orihime’s eyes, however, narrowed. She gently pulled his hands off her. 

“I’ve lived on my own for practically forever, Ichigo,” she said firmly. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need to hide behind Abarai-san.”

Ichigo sighed. “I wasn’t trying to say you couldn’t,” he insisted, holding his arms open in case she would return there. He wanted her to, at least. He had fifteen minutes and he didn’t want to waste it fighting. Especially when her pain and frustration was so evident in the words she used to cover them up. “I just want you to be happy, Orihime. Safe.” 

Orihime lunged into his arms again, clearly agreeing with him on not wasting time. “I was happy with you,” she whispered, her nails digging a stinging trail into his back like she was afraid he’d disappear if he let her go. 

He let out a breath, pulling her shoulder up to his mouth so he could kiss it. She smelled honey-sweet, fresh and dewy like home wrapped into something permanent. Something he’d be leaving behind. He squeezed her back tightly, pressing her flush against his chest. Her thumb came up to trace circles on his jaw, but he stalled her by kissing it. 

He pulled back, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s something else,” he said, braving himself to meet her eyes. “If we never get to see each other again, Orihime, I want you to forget about me.”

Orihime’s eyes widened and he saw something falter within them. 

“Well, maybe not forget about me,” he said quickly, not liking the flood of tears building in her eyes, “but move on, I guess. Move on with your life...with someone else, if you have to.” 

Even as he was saying the words, his stomach plummeted at the thought of it. But it had to be done or he’d be holding her back from all the amazing things she could experience, with or without him. 

God, this was _hard_. 

“Ichigo,” she said softly, reaching out to hold his hand. “It wouldn’t be fair to whoever comes after you if I can’t-if I can’t love them like I love you. It’s not fair to me either.” She sighed. “I’d rather be faithful to my own happiness than unfaithful to someone who has no idea my heart is with someone else." 

"Okay, okay. Like I said," Ichigo tried weakly to make a joke, "I'm not very good at this." 

"I think you're doing okay, given the circumstances," she said softly, running her hand up the ridge of his collarbone. She rested her head on his shoulder and the forlorn look in her eyes was enough to throb dully behind his own breastbone. "How much time do we have?" 

Ichigo glanced at Uryu's watch on his wrist and frowned. "Eleven minutes." 

It was insufficient, but then again, anything less than an eternity with her would always come up short. 

"What do you want to do?" he asked, pulling them to the floor so they could sit together unnoticed. She sank to the floor beside him, then leaned her head against his shoulder. 

"Can you hold me?" she sniffed, wrapping her arms around his torso. 

Ichigo returned her embrace wordlessly, cocooning her in his arms. He kissed the nape of her neck, burying his face in between her shoulder and her head. 

"I love you, and I love them," he started heatedly, "and if I didn't have to choose–" 

"I know," Orihime said gently. "I know, Ichigo." She pressed the flat of her hand against the back of his neck and released a shaky breath. When they pulled apart, his eyes were gentle, looking at her with a pang of regret and maybe, just a little bit of longing that pressed a hungry shudder down her spine. 

"Kiss me?" she requested, eyes uncertain as they looked at each other. 

Ichigo chuckled. "You don't have to ask," he remarked, tipping her chin towards his with the slight brush of his fingers. 

He started at the corner of her mouth, a small peck, but she leaned into it willingly to press their lips together into a full kiss. He cupped the back of her head, tongue peeking out into the hot gap of their mouths to prod at hers. The kiss was salty, either from her tears or his, but it was gentle and tender. Oversaturated from the heaviness of the moment. 

Orihime's arms locked around his shoulders, their kiss tilting until they were breathless and aching. When their chests ached for reprieve, Orihime rested her forehead on Ichigo’s and closed her eyes, savouring the moment as long as she could.

"Ichigo," she mumbled quietly, as they finally pulled apart. "How will I know you're safe? Once you're out there?"

Ichigo blinked blearily, the words not yet making sense in his brain. Then, a tiny idea grew brighter. He stood up and approached her desk, pulling a sheet from under the paperweight. Shakily, he reached for a pen and began scrawling down an address. 

He turned over his heel and handed the paper. "Here," he said. "I can't write to you if your mail is going to be under surveillance, so that's my lawyer. If we get out, I'll be sure to send something to you there." 

"Okay," she whispered, a growing tension building in her belly. She stood up clumsily, then looked up at him with shining eyes. 

It went without saying that they would miss each other terribly. Ichigo, for one, had quite liked that she could push past his epithets and his defences to see the man he liked to be – kind, honest, _good_. He would miss her in a feverish way that he knew would wear itself out eventually, but always press into his bones at the occasional memory of her. 

And god, was she _memorable_. 

"I should go," he said reluctantly, glancing at his watch. "It's almost time for count." 

Orihime nodded, walking back to the vent with him. When they paused, she leaned on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I love you," she said, cupping his chin. "Be safe." 

Ichigo couldn't swallow past the block in his throat, so he nodded. He crouched on his knees, dismantling the vent with shaky hands. When he stood up again, they stared at each other. 

"We had it good," he said, reaching out for her hand so he could pull her closer. "Right?" 

"We did," Orihime agreed, with a soft and dimpled smile. "Thank you." 

Ichigo shook his head and kissed her nose. "Watch out for the Loch Ness," he said feebly, drawing out a small and shaky laugh from her. 

He felt his own lips curve into a smile at the prospect of his last image of her being a smiling, happy one as opposed to a hurt, heartbroken one. 

They didn't say goodbye – it felt all too inopportune to do so – but Ichigo leaned down one last time so she could kiss his forehead, then quickly slipped back into the vent. 

And then he was gone into the shadows, just as quickly as he'd arrived. 


	20. The Breakout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo and his fellow escapees had never thought breaking out of prison would be easy; they hadn't fathomed it to be this hard either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for what's about to happen. I shall have you know that none of this was easy to write and I hope the 3 people on AO3 reading this will forgive me :))))

The faint smell of spray lotion clung to the air as Ichigo regarded his corner of the cell. He’d spent much of the last hour rubbing it over himself, while dousing his belongings with pepper and stale onion they’d snuck in from lunch last week. 

“You sure this is going to work?” he asked, setting his hands on his hips. 

“In theory,” Ishida muttered, spraying his own arms meticulously before passing the can to Chad. “Masking our scent is a gamble at best. Once we hit the water, it’s only going to make the bloodhounds’ jobs easier.” 

Ichigo scowled as Ishida shouldered past him towards a dustbin. He glowered at Ishida’s back. “So what the hell did I spend the last hour dunking myself in vaseline and onion for?”

Ishida clicked his teeth in trademark irritation, but didn’t spare Ichigo a second glance as he went about his business. “The few minutes we _can_ buy are going to be crucial, Kurosaki,” he snapped, coming around to finally face Ichigo. “The longer we throw the dogs off our scent, the better chance we have of making it out of here. Now quit dawdling and help Sado-kun undo the screws around the vent.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost tier time.” 

Ichigo followed Chad wordlessly, but felt the sweat starting to pool in his palms. The rough-edged determination that had egged him on throughout his period of incarceration seemed to be running a little short when it came to their escape. Yet, with his mind fixed on the mission, he figured there was little he could do in a frenzied state, so he put his fears aside and got on his knees to help Chad. 

They worked in silence, the only sounds being Ishida muttering to himself and pacing around the room intermittently. Every time a guard came around, he’d tap the bedpost with his finger, making all three of them stall in their motions before releasing a breath and carrying on again. 

When the overhead buzzers finally went off for tier time, the cell doors cranked open noisily. Ichigo and Chad stood up, wiping their sweat and preparing to go stand on the walkway, when Ishida curled a hand around Chad’s elbow to stop him. 

“I’d like to speak with you, Sado-kun,” he said softly, an uncharacteristic, gentle glint in his eyes. 

_Ah_. Ichigo felt himself getting suddenly embarrassed, so he quickly tripped over his own feet to cross the distance of their cell and give the two their privacy. Though neither of them had mentioned anything, he could tell they were going to have _that_ kind of a conversation, and – despite having had a similar kind of talk with Orihime – the heat in his ears was too unbearable to stick around. 

Once he approached the walkway, he felt himself cooling down again as the drafts of breeze fluttered past him. Inmates had all come out, standing with their arms perched on the railing. Some chatted idly, some paced back and forth from their cell to the railing to stretch their legs. Underneath, in the quadrangle, guards walked around in periodic motions as they kept vigilant watch on potential suspicious behavior or fights breaking out. His eyes drifted to the opposite aisle of the building, scanning the rows of inmates. His gaze landed on Grimmjow. 

Grimmjow stared back, eyes narrowed in challenge. 

At his piercing stare, Ichigo was reminded of the night he met Orihime. The low light, the grunts of the men who cornered him. Grimmjow’s merciless blows. If the softness of Orihime’s memory feebled his resolve, staring at Grimmjow strengthened it. 

Suddenly, he felt the brush of a hand on his shoulder. 

Ichigo turned around to see Shinji, whose spine had gone taut with his salute. “Hirako Shinji, Commanding Officer, reporting for servile gallantry, sir!” He clicked his boots. 

Ichigo scoffed. “You look like an idiot,” he pointed out. 

Shinji grinned, then came over to stand next to Ichigo. He jerked his head back to cell #42. “Got a little romancin’ going on in there,” he noted.

Ichigo shrugged, a neither-here-nor-there movement of his head. 

“Things like that can compromise a mission,” Shinji said carefully, an edge of _something_ in his voice that Ichigo didn’t like. “It would work out well if we had someone keeping things in check, keep an eye on things – y’know what I mean?” 

Ichigo snorted. He didn’t like people like Shinji, typically; people who spoke in veiled metaphors and a general distrust in other people. More so, he didn’t like people who implied distrust in his _friends_. 

“If you’re suggesting either one of us to fill in that role,” he said, staring back at Shinj, “you’re a lot stupider than I thought.” 

The low buzz from the speakers snapped them both out of it, however, considering the gravity of the situation. 

It was time. 

Ichigo’s stomach dropped, but he pushed Shinji forward with one hand. “Go,” he said quietly, using the murmurs and movements of inmates back to their cells to usher Shinji into his own. 

Everything felt hyperreal, the pressing awareness shifting colors, sounds and movement into something a lot sharper than it was a moment ago. 

Back inside their cell, Ishida and Chad had straightened as well. 

“We have to move,” Chad said quietly. “Before the guards start the count.” 

They all nodded, scrambling to line up quickly before the vent. Before Ichigo could move however, Ishida grabbed his arm and thrust the rope into his hands. 

“I’m trusting you with this,” he said quietly, staring at Shinji out of his peripheral like he didn’t share the same sentiment in regards to Shinji. 

Ichigo nodded, twisting the coarse material around his wrist wordlessly. 

Then, Ishida took the lead. Shinji followed, considering if anyone spotted the latter in a cell he wasn’t supposed to be in, it would all be over before it even began. 

Ishida quickly propped open the vent and slipped in, his disappearing silhouette closely followed by Shinji’s own lithe body. Ichigo pushed Chad ahead of him, then, with one last glance around their cell, he followed. 

It had begun, he thought. 

They were in. 

  
  


**__________**

  
  


In the dimness of the vents, Abarai Renji ran his hands along the coarse wall. At around eight in the night, a call had come in from plumbing – something about a gas leak in one of the pipes that the guy on night shift had noticed just before leaving. 

Unfortunately, according to prison protocol, plumbers on night shift couldn’t exactly leave without an escort. So Renji had slipped down the service elevator, taken a few right turns before finding the guy, and successfully walked him out. In and out, easy does it. 

As he began walking back, however, he marvelled at the area he was navigating through. Vast corridors of walkways branched off into the darkness, each leading to a boiler room, a set of pipes or – sometimes – a dead end. In his entire career at Seireitei, there had been only a handful of instances that required him to slip down here, but he knew the layout roughly well enough to navigate it with ease. 

The low sounds of water dripping were boosted by the hollow walls of the vents. The way everything caved in on itself, long and narrow, he could even hear the ocean thrumming somewhere in the distance. It was eerie, just as it was functional, but Renji didn’t really have a lot of time to dwell on it. 

See, he’d been meaning to approach Iba for the movie night list when he was hauled down here. And while he was practical for the most part, he couldn’t help but get a phantom, lingering gut feeling that whatever was out there in the universe, it was delaying the inevitable. 

Shaking himself off his nerves, he traipsed his way up the grate footing that led back to the waiting service elevator. He withdrew his keycard and swiped it across the rusty panel. 

Dim lights flickered on, and the huge chunk of machinery began whirring into power. Renji had one foot in already, the other merely _just_ lifted off the ground when he heard it. 

The faint _‘clang’_ from somewhere up north. 

**__________**

Ishida had just placed his palms on the vent, only to pause. 

“What’s the holdup?” Shinji called out, flicking his finger through his ear. 

“The doctor,” Ishida said, staring at Ichigo in concern. “Is she…?”

Ichigo shook his head, catching on quickly. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “I told her to take the entire weekend off,” he said, ignoring Shinji’s amused stare. “She’s not gonna be in there.”

Ishida nodded, then turned back to dislodge the vent from its holding. Behind him, the other three men were sweaty and flustered, having travelled along the narrow linings of the humid vent rather quickly. The timer on Ishida’s hands glowed, showing that they roughly had about 45 minutes until a guard would notice they were missing, but it wouldn’t hurt to hustle. Making good time was crucial if they wanted to step out without contingencies. 

Ishida, however, had seemed to permanently stop in his motions. He was staring at the vent, hands still over the surface. 

Feeling a blaze of sticky heat running through his system, Ichigo was pushed to irritation at the hindrance. He was about to open his mouth, demand what the hell was going on, when Chad spoke up instead. 

“Ishida, what happened?” 

Ishida turned slowly on his heel to regard the others with a grim look. His face had turned chalky white, hands trembling. “We didn’t put back the concrete,” Ishida said slowly, regarding Chad with a significant look. 

“That’s never been a problem before,” Ichigo pointed out, “We didn’t put it back after I went to see Orihime either. Both times.” 

“You visited Doctor Hime-chan _after hours_?” Shinji marvelled, elbowing him. “Ichigo, you sly dog!” 

The three cellmates ignored him as Ishida shook his head impatiently. “You didn’t put it back, _I_ did,” he said, frustratedly running a sleeve over his forehead. “Both times, when you and Sado-kun were asleep.” 

“Why is this a problem?” Shinji asked, crossing his arms. 

“Because there are plumbers and _guards_ walking around here, Hirako-san,” Ishida hissed, regarding him with an icy stare. “Making it this far without being caught is a miracle, but I am not so sure we will be able to get past much without anyone noticing there’s a large hole where concrete is supposed to be!” He regarded the group stoically. “We have to go back and cover the entrance.” 

This seemed to burst a dam among the men, who had been listening in silence so far. 

“Woah, hold on, wait, hold up,” Shinji interrupted, bringing his hands forward in hestiance. “We are _not_ going back, are you insane?!”

“Cool it, Hirako,” Chad told him, towering over Shinji. Ichigo joined him on the other side, effectively subduing whatever Shinji had to say.

“These are not the best circumstances, I’m aware,” Ishida said, a ball of dread building in his stomach. “But our plan hinges on _at least_ reaching the water with a head start.” He stared at Chad and Ichigo. “We cannot compromise on this.” 

There was a beat of silence. Then Ichigo stepped forward with a determined gaze. “I’ll go.” 

“Ichigo, what if–” Chad began. 

“You guys get started on getting through the doctor’s office,” Ichigo interrupted, rubbing his palms on his pants. When Chad and Ishida were about to protest, he cut them off with his hand. “Listen, no offense, but neither of you are fast runners and this one,” he jerked his head at Shinji, “can’t be trusted–”

“–hey!” Shinji pouted in protest.

“– so _stop worrying_ about me and get moving, damn it,” Ichigo said, already stepping back a few. 

Chad’s face fell. “Ichigo, we don’t want to leave you behind.” 

“I’m flattered, man,” Ichigo said, clapping his shoulder. “But you gotta go on without me alright? I’ll catch up, I promise.” 

“And if you don’t?” Shinji asked, narrowing his brows.

“Then you’ll go on without me,” Ichigo said, with a calm sense of clarity. When he saw Chad and Ishida’s stricken faces, he shook his head firmly. 

This escape, as collective as it was, had always been about Chad and Ishida. If Ichigo could give them this, this one shot at a forever they deserved, he honestly considered this a small price to pay, despite their hesitance. 

There was a moment’s worth of quiet. 

“Always the martyr,” Ishida finally chided in reply, but his eyes held a reverence and gratefulness that Ichigo could discern. And as reluctant as Ichigo was to admit it, the only thing they ever shared that was worth mentioning was that whatever their actions were, they stemmed from love. It was as much as a _‘thank you’_ he was going to get.

Ichigo smirked. “Always the smartass.” When he regarded Chad, he smiled. “Relax, I’ve got this.” 

Chad and Ishida nodded. Ichigo then stepped into Shinji’s space, speaking low enough for only the two of them to hear. “If I hear anything about you betraying them in any shape or form,” he threatened, “you don’t wanna know what I’m capable of.” 

Shinji gulped, then nodded. “Godspeed.” 

Feeling satisfied with the outcome, Ichigo turned on his heel, heading back to the shadows they had just returned from to go shove some concrete in a hole. 

  
  


**__________**

All said and done, the job wasn’t too difficult.

Granted, his hands were grimy and he felt hot as hell, but Ichigo had managed to scramble and smear the concrete in record time. Somehow, sealing the hole back up made it real. Solidified this night as a point of no return, the only pathway opening up being forward and out or back in and executed. 

Rubbing the excess dirt off his palms, he stood up and consulted the covered hole. He grabbed the rope Ishida had trusted him with, then began heading back towards the doctor’s office. 

Spare his footsteps and his thundering heartbeat, it was mostly silent. There were the occasional, industrious rhythms of machinery all around him as he hurried back, but his ears had grown quite accustomed to them. 

Ichigo rounded a corner cautiously, ready to strain his ear to listen for any approaching sounds, but suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. 

A few feet ahead of him stood Abarai Renji, one hand tightly gripping a flashlight that strained it’s light right into Ichigo’s eyes. 

“You have to be fucking kiddin’ me,” Renji growled as Ichigo blinked out the spots in his vision. 

“Abarai–” Ichigo began, then cut himself off. What the hell was he supposed to say? That he got lost?

_Damn it all to hell._

“Got lost?” Renji mocked, one hand sliding over his holster. He closed his eyes and let out a humorless laugh. “Come on, kid. I knew you had an ego but this is a new level of insane.” 

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He knew Renji was trying to get under his skin, but maintaining his blood pressure from soaring through the roof was proving to be increasingly difficult. The night had been stressful enough without the penitentiary’s most prominent guard cornering him on his way back. For all he knew, Renji could have already pressed some button, signalled some invisible alarm all the way up to the warden.

“You don’t know shit about me, Abarai,” he said, looking just past Renji’s shoulders to figure out an escape strategy that left them with the least number of casualties. 

There were none. The space was too narrow and wouldn’t let up until one of them shovelled over the other. _Shit._

“You’re right, I don’t,” Renji said, directing Ichigo’s attention back to him. “And I’ll be honest, I slept a whole lot better when I didn’t.” He moved one step forward, but Ichigo didn’t relent. “See, I liked you, Kurosaki, but I ain’t stupid. So tell me there’s a reason for this, give up the location of your men–” at Ichigo’s widened gaze, he chuckled, “– yeah, no con escapes without a cellie or two, don’t give me that babe in the woods look.” He raised his arms out wide so Ichigo could see his unarmed palms. “Let ‘em up and we can talk about how much of this I’m gonna write in my weekly report back to the warden.”

“No deal,” Ichigo replied curtly, bracing himself for Renji’s reaction. 

Renji sighed. “Surrender now and it’ll only make it easier for you, Kurosaki,” he ordered, body tight and alert as he held one hand out as if to ward Ichigo off. “If ya don’t, that’s a dime on your sentence. Maybe twenty if the Warden decrees it.”

“Get out of the way _now_ , Abarai,” Ichigo gritted his teeth evenly, hands clenched into fists, “and no one has to get hurt.” 

Renji laughed. “What, you think this is gonna work? You’re gonna break out, take a ferry out to some island and live out your days in freedom with your guys, that it?” He leaned closer, making Ichigo step back. “Even _if_ you make it out of here – and that’s a mega-sized if – they’re gonna watch your family, Kurosaki. For _years_ – decades, even. If they catch you breathing anywhere _near_ your baby sisters, that’s an execution sentence on your head, sure, but it’s a lot of pain on them, too. A lot of pain they didn’t ask for.”

Ichigo said nothing; the only evidence that he was even listening was the slow, up-and-down heaving of his chest. 

“I’m trying to help you out,” Renji continued calmly, one hand still on his holster. “Talk sense into you. Come with me now and we’ll act like this never happened. Do it by the book with the help of your lawyer and your loved ones right by your side.” 

Something about his tone made Ichigo wonder if Renji knew about him and Orihime. His heart flared wildly in a clawing, crazed fear at the thought.

Ichigo lowered his head, closing his eyes so Renji didn’t see the regret in them. When he raised his chin again, his eyes were dark, blank. “I know where you live, Abarai.”

_“They have a pretty place overlooking the bridge!”_ he heard Orihime’s voice ring in his head and he regretfully prayed she would forgive him for resorting to this. 

The briefest flash of betrayal crossed Renji’s eyes as he tightened his grip on his holster. Ichigo felt his own stomach sink in hot shame for having to use this kind of leverage on the one guard he didn’t actually hate, but time was running out and Chad and Ishida’s – and even _Orihime’s –_ safety was riding on how fast he could slip out of here. Preferably without Renji playing hero. 

Renji, on the other hand, wondered if he would have given the other man a chance to explain himself if he hadn't stooped low enough to threaten the safety of his _family_. If there was an alternate universe where they could have stood on the same side. 

“Are you threatening me, Kurosaki?” he asked coldly, his eyes hard and unforgiving now. 

“Maybe I am,” Ichigo replied, evenly, giving an unyielding stare of his own that he hoped didn’t betray his speeding heartbeat. 

They stared at each other for a moment, both hesitant to turn this into a confrontation but neither willing to relinquish their opposition to each other. 

“I’m sorry,” Ichigo said, knowing Renji didn’t care if he meant it. Not right now, maybe not ever. He could only hope that his apology would extend to Orihime, and keep her safe from the fallout of what would happen tonight. It was the least he could do, though that wasn’t even saying much in the grander scheme of things that they’d fucked over. That _he’d_ fucked over.

It was Renji’s turn to say nothing. 

For a split second, neither of them moved.

Then, at the same time, they lunged at each other. 


	21. The Breakout: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: blood, gore.

Orihime straightened up, mouth wet and icky from throwing up. While she very much adored the part of Ichigo that vowed to keep her safe, she really wondered if staying in was the grandest idea. Ichigo hadn’t told her, specifically, that tonight was the night he was breaking out, but intuition had its way of throbbing through her body and letting her know something was off kilter. 

And boy, was she anxious. She loved Ichigo, she really did, but she wondered if it ever crossed his mind that waiting here, not knowing, _worrying_ about his safety, had driven her to the point of sickness. 

She glanced at the clock. Just a little past 8:30. She’d had an early dinner (an entire loaf of bread with microwaved soup) and retired to bed. Sleep had been full of torment; she could feel herself restlessly tossing and turning, wading in and out of spotty dreams with tracker dogs trotting across Seireitei with Ichigo’s bloody clothes, blood pooling everywhere until the dry grass of the penitentiary was soaked wet. And just when she wanted to tear her eyes away from the gory sighed, wanted to turn her eyes to the sky -- she would see Ichigo there, his lifeless body pinned to the spire of the tower.

Orihime shuddered, downing a glass of water before heading back to her couch. She never prayed often to the deities above, but on the more difficult nights, she found herself lingering by Sora’s shrine, hoping to seek comfort where there was none. 

_He will write to me,_ she told herself firmly. _He’s going to be okay, and he’s going to write to me._

She bit her lip, her words sounding dubious even to herself. But she had doubted Ichigo once and she was not going to make the mistake of doing it again. 

She straightened Sora’s portrait, brushed her ‘Ichigo-shoebox’ tentatively, then picked it up and walked back to her kitchen, hoping to seek what little comfort she could through the poetry he’d left behind for her. To find hope in the words of authors long gone, reaffirming her faith in her love. 

And when sleep would eventually arrive, she hoped it would bring brighter sentiments with it. 

**___________**

“Iba to base, I repeat: Iba to base,” Iba murmured into his radio, heaving a large sigh as he began his ascent to A-Wing. “Anyone heard from Renji yet?” 

_“His last recorded activity was punched in the keycard logs roughly forty-five minutes ago, sir,”_ the attendant responded, _“He should have been back by now. Would you like us to sound the alarm?”_

Iba made a face. While it was uncharacteristic of Renji to be loitering around with his radio off and no one knowing his whereabouts, Iba didn’t want to cause unnecessary panic without gaining the in-and-outs of the situation. The last thing they needed was another lockdown, which would bring with it a barrage of paperwork and after-hours meetings that no one would really want unless it was serious. 

“Hold off on that,” he instructed, making up his mind firmly. “I’ll finish up count here and go look for him myself.” 

_“Roger that_.” 

Iba stormed up the stairs, starting from the 40s. Count was a standard order procedure, a continuous movement from cell to cell, ensuring inmates were present in person -- not in paper mache masks or dummy body doubles. Not that any of the cons in Seireitei were bold enough to attempt something as risky. Prison procedure and protocol here was stringent, built on the backbones of past failures and headlines from other centers in Japan; hell, even around the world. It was an efficient system and Iba trusted it, which was all the more reason that Renji was most probably unhurt somewhere. Probably striking up conversation with a late shift plumber, for all he knew. 

Iba rounded the corner on 41, eyes scanning the cell to see the three, sleeping heads of Ikkaku, Yumichika and the Kenpachi. He banged on the cell door twice, drawing out guttural groans from within. All three men lifted their heads and mechanically raised their hands, before sinking back to bed with heavy thumps. Ikkaku, on his way back, flipped Iba off rather crudely. 

Iba chuckled, then moved past 41 to 42. He rapped the bars with his knuckles loudly. 

“Kurosaki, Ishida, Sado!” he barked, peering around the bars to spot the sleeping figures. While there were bundles under the comforters, he couldn’t exactly see any heads. A growing tension began to unfurl in his stomach when there was no response. “I’m not gonna ask twice. Get your asses up and give me a show of hands if you’re present!” 

Further silence. 

“Kurosaki!” he bellowed, “Sado, Ishida!” He slammed one palm against the bar, ignoring the curious murmurs from surrounding cells. His blood ran cold as he once again stared at the empty cell. 

Raising his radio to his lips, he felt his mouth move a hell of a lot calmer than the scrambled thoughts in his brain at the moment. 

“This is Iba to base,” he said grimly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need you to sound the alarm. We’ve got a possible code red on our hands. “Call the warden the second you get off my line,” he regarded cell 42 over his shoulder with gritted teeth, ”We’re having a breakout.”

**___________**

In the eleventh hour, it seemed to Ishida that more things were falling apart than one. 

“Where the hell is he?” he demanded, pacing back and forth. 

Once Chad, Ishida and Shinji had reached the doctor’s office, they’d made a quick study of dismantling the pipe and crawling to the drop. Below, the southbound water was roaring and crashing with a ferocity that was both frigid and menacing. It was muddy, a slate gray where the deluge of prison sewer water met the crisp, retreating ocean. Fast flowing and full of echoes, the concave opening where the three men stood proved dangerous without the rope. 

Which, stupidly, Ishida had given to Ichigo. He clenched his fist. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

As the three men waited in the tunnel to take their descent, they began growing tense. Shinji had taken to sitting spread eagle around the entrance, while Ishida and Chad stayed rooted to their spots. 

“Ichigo will come,” Chad said, his voice barely audible over the crashing water. 

“I know,” Ishida replied, glancing at his watch. They were running far behind schedule, however, and as a sort-of team leader, he knew it would eventually fall on his shoulders to toe the line and make the hard decisions if Ichigo didn’t show. And that was _not_ something he wished to do, despite knowing full well he was perfectly capable of it. 

A sudden noise at the far end of the pipe jerked all three of them into a sharp alertness. Shinji immediately got back on his feet, hands braced like he was expecting a fight. Ishida and Chad mimicked him, spines going taut. 

Emerging from the shadows, however, was Ichigo. A huge gust of relief passed through all the men at the sight of him; however, upon closer inspection, it seemed he was hobbling. 

Ishida’s stomach dropped when he spotted a terribly damp patch of blood practically pooling at Ichigo’s shirt. It was an angry, red opening -- dark to the point of near blackness. 

While Ishida’s blood turned to ice at the sight of his battered body, he hoped to God that Ichigo’s empty hands indicated the rope was hidden elsewhere on him.

“Ichigo,” Chad exclaimed, stepping forward to observe the extent of damages under the dim light. Ichigo’s clothes were patched and dirty, like he’d literally been dragged through every surface possible. Nonetheless, he was up on two feet and mostly alright -- had it not been for the raw, oozing wound that leaked out of his chest. 

It looked painful. 

“Who?” Shinji asked, steadying him by the elbow as he came up to the group. 

“Abarai,” Ichigo wheezed, taking in sharp breaths as he moved. “He got my rib on the bad side.” 

Chad and Ishida gasped, faces drained of color. 

“And?” Shinji prodded on, reasoning that the other two were still in shock over Ichigo’s sorry state. 

“I took him down,” Ichigo assured, then lifted his eyes to stare dead into Ishida’s eyes, blunt and hardened. “But I lost the rope.” 

He leaned over the wall and groaned, face screwed tight like it was taking every iota of strength in his body to hold himself together. When he braced a free hand on the wall to secure himself, it dragged a patchy maroon trail of handprint with it. 

Ishida wondered just how much of a trail he’d left on his way here, ears burning with the sudden twist of events that had come crashing. 

“You _lost it?_ ” he demanded hoarsely, his voice sounding unamilair to his own ears. 

Ichigo’s wild eyes turned dark and sharp as he raised them to glower at Ishida. “I had to tie Abarai up to keep him from calling anyone,” he spat. When Ishida scoffed, he narrowed his brows. “What, you wanted me to kill a man for doing his job? Is that what you wanted me to do?”

Ishida pinched his brows, the air tense between them. The words _‘We’ve been made, we’ve been made, we’ve been made’_ seemed to chorus through his entire soul, nearly mocking his hubris for even daring to do the unthinkable. 

He wondered, idly, if he had strayed so far from the light that he could ever be redeemed. He had lied, stolen, deceived and even hurt in the name of his grand 'plan.' 

_And for what?_ A voice sneered in his head. Love? Would that justify crossing the line? Rendering morality moot for a cause? 

“No,” he said finally, running one hand through his hair. “Is he conscious?” 

“No,” Ichigo replied, relaxing slightly. “I tied him to one of the boilers, but it shouldn’t be long before he comes to. We have to go without the rope.” 

Shinji cleared his throat. 

“What?” Ichigo, Chad and Ishida snapped in unison. 

“I don’t know if any of you have noticed,” Shinji said, walking back to the drop and pointing downwards, “but that is an _18-foot drop_.”

There was a beat of silence, the only thing louder than the barrage of water being Ichigo’s ragged breathing. Ishida ran over contingencies in his mind, solutions he could craft from thin air that would allow them to descend without smashing a skull, getting swept away with the current, or -- God forbid, in Ichigo’s case -- _dying_. 

Perhaps, in the chance of the thinnest silver lining, they could have gone back to the clinic and treated Ichigo’s wound. But time was already running out, and they’d been _caught_ already. Besides, the doctor wasn’t here and as skilled as Ishida was, even he could not mend the infirmity of an already frail rib. 

“We have to call it off,” Ishida announced, regarding the group seriously. “Kurosaki’s current state is severely compromised. There’s no guarantee that he’d hit the water and make it out alive.” 

Chad sighed, dragging a palm over his face. Shinji looked livid. 

Ichigo, however, stepped forward with a confident face that belied the intensity of his pain. “We don’t have a choice, Ishida. So just get on with it, already, we’re _wasting time!_ " 

Ishida clicked his teeth, levelling his gaze to meet Ichigo’s. “Don’t be stupid, Kurosaki--”

He was cut off abruptly by a loud, blaring alarm that, despite its seeming distance from where they were, reverberated with a volume that nearly had all four men on their knees. It rang shrilly, urgently across the stone walls of Seireitei, and it was obvious there was only one cause behind its urgency. 

“The sirens,” Chad said, head arching low as the painfully loud noise reverberated around the tunnel. 

“Only two choices now,” Shinji said, pushing past all of them to stand at the edge of the drop. “Die or jump -- and I’m not stickin’ around this shithole any longer.”

He arched his shoulders back, stretched his arms above his head, then took a glorious plunge off the edge.

  
“Shit!”

Ichigo, Chad and Ishida immediately chased after, watching as the swoop of Shinji’s body came in contact with the gushing water. His blonde head disappeared under the shadows of water, only to crop up a few feet away with one thumb flashed up in the air as he drifted aimlessly in its depths.

“We have to go,” Chad said, one hand rubbing his ear as he winced at the blaring alarm. “If we get caught…”

“We’ll never be able to do this again,” Ishida finished with a frown. 

“Then,” Ichigo wheezed, clutching his side as he hobbled up to the edge, “let's do it.”

The three cellmates stared down at the water with bated breaths, then almost at once -- like an imaginary gunshot going off -- they leaped together. 

**___________**

  
  


There was no describing the intensity of searing shocks that ran through Ichigo’s veins when his body hit the water. If the jarring cold wasn’t enough to send him into paralysing shock, the piercing throb of his rib was. 

Despite holding on to every last thread of consciousness he possibly could, he could feel his eyes fast closing as his limbs began to power down. The water was gushing outwards at a breakneck speed and he simply didn’t have the strength to swim with the current. 

Cold began seeping in through his collar, the base of his neck, the rounded tips of his ears...his head seemed to be _just so_ from tipping completely under the water.

Slowly, he wondered if this was how his mother felt in her dying moments. Weightlessly paralyzed, blood running slow as his body turned blue. Underneath the course of panic and desperation of his body trying to keep him alive, there was also a steady undertow of peace. If he walked into the light tonight, there’d be no telling where he’d end up tomorrow. 

Somewhere peaceful, hopefully. Somewhere kind, filled with warmth and joy and sunlight. Soft music, the crackling kinder of fire...maybe his sisters laughing in the distance somewhere at his father’s antics, his mother sharing an amused smile. Orihime’s hands wrapped around his waist, head resting on his chest -- just where he liked her -- as they swept away this distant life. This life with blood and punishment and coarse adrenaline. 

Hands grabbing his shoulders roughly broke him out of his reverie. _How long had he even been out?_ It had felt like forever.

As the slow dregs of awareness began seeping back to his body, Ichigo could faintly hear mumbling in his ear. There were varying sounds, a frenetic conversation of sorts, but his ears were clogged with buzzing to actually _hear_ what was being said. 

Someone hoisted him steady, two hands coming under each armpit as his arms were hoisted along two sets of shoulders. One broad and strong, the other wiry but equally sturdy. Ichigo blinked water out of his eyes, a gush of it escaping his mouth as he tried to croak out a sound. 

“Stay with us, Kurosaki,” Ishida was saying amidst heavy breaths, balancing half his weight. On his other side, Chad was heaving too, but they were somewhat in sync as they shared the burden of Ichigo’s weight between them. Underneath, Ichigo could feel their legs gyrate in long strokes, breaking through the current together despite the dead weight. 

They…had searched for him. Must have actively groped around the water and hauled him, just so he wouldn’t be left behind. 

Ichigo didn’t know if it was the salt or the dirt, but _something_ pricked at his eyes at the gesture. 

“Chad, Ishida,” he gasped, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears. “You shouldn’t have…”

“Ichigo, can you move your legs?” Chad asked urgently, readjusting Ichigo’s arm on his shoulder to ensure he didn’t slip. His grip was strong, as was Ishida’s -- almost painfully so on Ichigo’s upper arms. 

“If so, you better start kicking,” Ishida said, his eyes glinting with a shit-eating smirk even through the droplets of water that had splattered his glasses. Like he could somehow see through Ichigo’s dying sentimentalism through all that water. “We wouldn’t want to drop dead weight behind.”

_Prick_ , Ichigo thought with a grin, but felt his own chest burn with fierce resolve. His body came alive, legs kicking in sync so he could keep up with Ishida and Chad. In the distance, he could spot a white-blue light -- the gaping opening of the tunnel into a backwater that joined the ocean. 

They were close. He could taste it, right on the tip of his tongue, beneath the grimy salt. 

Renewed energy jolted through his body at the feeling of it. 

He was going to escape Seireitei with his two unyieldingly faithful friends. He was going to see his sisters again some day. 

And he was going to write Inoue Orihime a damn letter. 

.

Surprisingly, as the three cellmates wobbled out all pruny and dishevelled from the water, the morgue van was still waiting for them by the backwater. Shinji was leaning on it by one end, while Kensei Muguruma toyed with the trunk of the van. As he saw the three men approaching, he slammed it shut. 

“You’re late.” His eyes fell to Ichigo’s injury, however, and his grimace turned further sour. “Fuck’s sake.” 

“You waited,” Ichigo said, tone more than a little surprised when he regarded Shinji. 

“I said we’re allies, didn’t I?” Shinji asked, with a lopsided smirk. 

Meanwhile, Ishida and Chad quickly loaded Ichigo into the truck. The crisp air of the outside prickled their damp skin with goosebumps, but they gathered on either side as Ichigo stripped his shirt open with trembling fingers to assess the damage. 

There was a crater-like wound, still bleeding thick and runny, from where the heel of Renji’s boot had smashed it. Though it looked terribly fleshy and bruised, his chest still ran sturdy underneath the slickness. 

“It’s not broken,” Ishida marvelled, despite his initial doubts over the bleeding. “Will you be able to hold off on getting it cleaned until we’re out of here?”

“Not like we’ve got much of a choice,” Kensei muttered, coming around with large, black body bags in his hands. “Heard from one of the janitors that they’ve got an area-wide lockdown. Warden’s even considering calling in the JSDF if the guards don’t find you by dawn.”

“Shit,” Chad mumbled, glancing at Ichigo and Ishida. They had anticipated running late, but they certainly hadn’t anticipated still being here by the time the alarm had sounded. 

“Either way, you’re gonna have to put these on,” Kensei continued, passing around the body bags to the four men. “We’re gonna take the main gate out of here but there’s no guarantee the guard isn’t gonna do a routine check on the back. If you want to get out of here alive, I’d suggest you sit tight and shut up.” 

“Aw, Kensei,” Shinji cooed, shimmying into his body bag halfway before tossing himself unceremoniously among the other bodies already loaded in the van. “You’re so mean.”

Kensei huffed, before making space among the crowded area.

Ichigo’s stomach turned sour when he realized exactly what kind of company they would be in. He held back a shiver, half from the nausea and half from the pungent smell of death around him. 

“Squeamish?” Kensei asked, looking over his shoulder. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Ishida said, stepping forward in his own body bag. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better.” 

Ichigo nodded, staggering up so he could shuffle his own bag on. Somewhere beside him, Chad had already zipped completely up top, leaving only a tiny gap for breathing as he lied down somewhere between Ishida and an unnamed body Ichigo _really_ didn’t want to think about. 

“Try not to get blood on the equipment,” Kensei said with a resigned sigh, waiting for Ichigo to get in. Once he did, the door came down to its holding, leaving Ichigo and the others alone with three other dead bodies. There was a temporary moment of darkness, then the tiny, automatic lightbulb flickered on. 

Ichigo held his breath, then proceeded to zip up his body bag and lie down. 

Once his head rested on the cold metal of the back, his heartbeat jump-started again. Their situation was as precarious as precarious could get, and there was nothing he could do but lie down and hold his breath about it. 

The van thrummed steadily against the road, the little crunch of gravel audible in the quiet noise of the wide trunk. He knew, theoretically, that his fellow escapees were in here, but with his vision concealed by the flimsy cloth of his body bag, he might as well have been alone. He couldn’t even hear the others breathe. To make matters worse, every time the van hit a pothole or speed breaker, the jump of it made his injury ache with blinding pain. He had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out loud, the rivulets of blood stressing him out further. 

As the van began slowing down, Ichigo bit his lip and let his breaths out in heavy exhales. It completely halted, and a window was lowered somewhere upfront. 

“Evening, Shriogane-san,” Kensei could be heard saying, all business-like. “Just takin’ the batch out for unloading.”

There was the ominously faint click of a clipboard. Then, 

“Bit late for unloadin, isn’t it?” Shirogane asked, voice muffled as he seemed to walk over to the side. The driver’s door unlocked soon after, and Kensei’s footsteps could be heard as he came up to the back defensively. 

“Bit of a hiccup,” Kensei replied gruffly.

“Why don’t you open up the back for me? Routine check,” Shirogane said. “How many bodies are we scheduled for tonight? Three?” 

_Fuck!_ Ichigo’s breath hitched, his pulse throbbing uncomfortably fast. Somewhere beside him, he heard an audible gasp. There was a beat of silence, and though none of them could see the goings-on, they suspected Kensei was in the spotlight. 

There was a faint click, like someone had unlocked the trunk door. Ichigo could hear it groan as it lifted, but it stopped halfway.

“You know,” Kensei started. “I wouldn’t mind waiting here for you to do your thing, but I’ve got orders from high up about speeding it along tonight. Embalming took a little bit of trouble, bosses wanted to get things going before _rigor mortis_ set in.”

“Rigor mortis?” 

“Yeah,” Kensei said slowly, “You know, when the body starts going stiff and sits up all googly-eyed and shit.” There was another minute of silence. Kensei wasn’t a great actor -- considering how deadpan his voice was -- but Ichigo supposed those were the kind that usually sold really well. Or at least, Shrigane seemed to be buying it. “I wouldn’t mind opening it up, though -- just wouldn’t want ya to puke your guts out and then have to do paperwork about it. Heard it's a real _somethin’_ to witness for first-timers.”

The trunk door began lifting again, but something clamped it shut. Ichigo held his breath, hoping the guard couldn’t catch a whiff of his blood through the other odors. 

“Say, Muguruma, you’ve been working here how long?” 

“Seven years.”

“And you haven’t had any write-ups for misconduct in that time, have you? Don’t recall seeing your name up there.”

“No, sir.” 

A pause. 

“Alright, move it along then. Too much fish food for me tonight to want to see it, I’m afraid,” he said, thumping the van with one hand. Ichigo winced. “Just don’t mention this to the warden, alright? Heard he’s come down tonight for something. Buncha cons go missing over at A-Wing.”

“Sure.” 

The door opened, Kensei plopped in, and they were off again -- out of the gate and off the premises of Seireitei State Penitentiary. The steady whir of the tires was almost unbelievable to Ichigo’s ears. He and the others still hid in their bags, but it was obvious they were out of the woods. 

“Kensei?” Shinji said quietly, somewhere to Ichigo’s north.

“Hmm?”

“I could kiss you right now.” 

A groan. “Shut the fuck up, Shinji.”

But Shinji didn’t seem to want to, now that a major chunk of their worries were in the past. 

“Remember Mozambique?” 

“Thought I told you to shut the fuck up back there,” Kensei grumbled, then admitted in a lower tone, “Besides, I was drunk.”

Ichigo couldn’t see Shinji, but he was sure the man was grinning. He decided not to ask. 

Once he heard the rustle of zippers and the swish of cloth around him, he began undoing his own coverings. 

Gasping for breath, Ichigo’s head emerged from the body bag in time to see Chad, Ishida and Shinji sitting up too. In the low light filtering in through the window, he noticed the moon well and high up in the sky. A moon they usually couldn’t see all too well, from the many spires that blocked their view from the penitentiary. 

A wave of disbelief coursed through his body. It all still felt so liminal to him, but underneath the shock, there was the irrefutable fact: 

They had done it. 

They made it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, this chapter was hard to write! But would you look at that! They made it!!! (or did they…?) We’re only a few chapters away from the ending, but I’m glad you all stuck around for this story. I really enjoy reading your comments, they’re very fun! Thanks for reading!


	22. The Breakout: Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inoue Orihime knows, without a shadow of doubt, that her heart is in the right place. Too bad Kuchiki Byakuya is not a man who likes to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have only two more chapters to go, so that’s fun! My first longfic for sure, and boy is it _long._
> 
> Also, I’m not sure but Byakuya might be slightly OOC in this chapter. It was said in Bleach that he was hot-tempered in his youth, but, yeah. Hope everyone is staying safe this holiday season. Will be back to regularly scheduled updating from here on!

Driving up to the high arches of Seireitei had proved to be rather difficult that morning. Orihime noted with apprehension that most main roads leading to and from the penitentiary had all been cordoned off. If that hadn’t confirmed her suspicions enough, there were guards stationed every two miles within each other, and nearly all of them required her to show her I.D or prop open her trunk. Radios buzzed, and heavily-armed personnel seemed to be swarming in and out of the region like flies.

By the time she approached the seventh check point, she was feeling rather tired. 

Her window slid down, opening up to yet another guard. 

“I.D?” he asked, narrowing his eyebrows to examine the already opened wallet that she showed him. He noted down her details with a satisfying click, then gestured at the back for her to open the trunk. Mechanically, she flipped her key to one side and heard the steady hiss of her car as it did. The guard left her window to go examine the back. 

The most he’d find there were old collections of manga she’d been meaning to clean out. A spare tire. An umbrella and her rain boots. Certainly not three escaped inmates that she’d locked in her car and taken for a jaunt to the very place they’d meant to escape from. 

But protocol was protocol and Orihime understood it quite well. Even if she had broken a few. A line of guilt slithered down the bob of her throat. 

Orihime was a good person. She _and_ Ichigo were good people and they had done a bad thing. And bad things led to other things, no matter how rose-tainted one tried to paint it. There was no absolution for this kind of guilt; it was just something that you decided to weigh on your shoulders if it was worth it. And Ichigo _was_ worth it. He was a good man – an innocent man – who had a lot riding on his shoulders. The last thing she wanted to do was be the strings that held him back. 

The guard rapped on her window with his knuckles, snapping her out of it. When she turned, he gave an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry about that, uh,” he glanced at her I.D again, “Dr. Inoue. I’m sure they’ll brief you once you’re up there but we had four cons break out last night, so everyone’s kind of on the edge.” _Four_ cons? Orihime frowned. He watched her pale face and gave her a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, we have police scanning the entire district with helicopters. JSDF loaned out a bunch of men to do door-to-doors and scent-tracking, so there’s a good chance we’ll be onto those bastards by sundown.” 

Orihime bit her lip. She knew this man was just trying to make her feel better, but there was nothing remotely comforting about any of the things he just said. She smiled nonetheless, not wanting to hold his time up. “Thank you, guard-san,” she cheered. “I’ll be on my way then.” 

As she began pulling away and arriving at the heart of the prison, she noticed media vans, cameras and an entire entourage of reporters crowding by the gates. Even as she drove into parking, she could hear the throng of press shouting questions and doing their extensive reportage rather noisily. At this rate, Orihime suspected the entire city would know by noon. Maybe even the neighbouring districts. In her pocket was her phone, with three missed calls from Tatsuki, confirming as much. 

She pulled the keys from ignition and stepped out into the thick air. It had drizzled early that morning, but nothing could keep the enthusiasm of spectators at bay. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Iba instructing the other guards on crowd management. When his gaze caught hers, he nodded in greeting. 

"Mornin', doc," he greeted as she jogged up to him. "Hell of a night. You hear what happened?" 

"I – yes, I caught bits and pieces of it," she said, gnawing her lip in worry as the crowd around them grew. Thankfully, Iba kept one hand on her elbow and guided her through until they entered the grounds together. As they approached the high towers, she spotted other staff and personnel standing around in clusters with solemn looks on their faces. It was a fate worse than death, the verdict that convicts had escaped from a prison. She caught snippets of conversation from the police and other guards who were speaking into their phones – snippets of _'possibly armed and dangerous.'_

She frowned, her heart hitching in a sort of dull pain. While she personally knew three of the supposed convicts – and found them reasonably harmless – she realized the public perception was far different. And that _their_ tensions were high for very different reasons from hers. 

Once she noticed the bright flash of Renji's hair ahead of her, however, her stomach dropped. The crease of his brows puckered around a darkened, purple bruise. Slings of white bandages were tightly wound from his torso to his chest, tapering off at his right arm. When he regarded her, his face was hard set and somber. There was something in his eyes that she was sure, had she not been so worried, she could have deciphered. 

“Abarai-san,” Orihime gasped, immediately rushing to his side to examine the very hasty-looking fresh stitch on his finger where the skin had split. “Who–what happened?” 

“There’s a _‘you should’ve seen the other guy’_ joke in there somewhere, I’m sure,” Iba said, grinning with a livid, humorless smile. “I’m sure we’ll get around to crackin’ it once we catch those sorry sons-a-bitches.” He clapped Renji on the shoulder. “And we _will_ catch them.”

Renji, however, heaved a deep sigh, still looking at Orihime. He shook his head, then jerked his head towards her office window from where they were standing. “Clinic’s a mess,” he said shortly. “But the warden wants to see you first, so we should get that sorted.”

Orihime nodded, feeling a throb of fear in her chest. 

_You knew this would happen_ , she told herself as her ears buzzed with anxiety. 

“Come on,” Renji said, beckoning her to follow him into the penitentiary. As they walked, there was a grave, heavy silence between them. While Renji was still standing tall, still going about his job, his shoulders were sagged in a defeated slump. 

“Abarai-san–” Orihime started, then stopped. What comfort could she provide? What help would she even be? And his family...She squeezed her eyes shut, voice growing soft to the point of a whisper. “Who was it?” 

Renji turned over his shoulder, looking her dead in the eyes with _that_ look again. “Kurosaki,” he replied roughly, before turning on his heel and continuing up the corridor. 

Orihime almost stopped dead in her tracks, her heart racing to her throat with a gush of bile. There were questions – too many, in fact – but they were already well past administration and coming up on the warden’s office. The door was closed, and Renji looked like he was going to raise his fist to knock on it, but he stopped halfway, shoulders tight. 

“Abarai-san?”

He turned on his heel and put one large hand on her shoulder, the weight of it forcing her to look up. 

“Listen to me, doc,” he said quietly, eyes darting up and down at the many people that were hurrying around before landing on the door. “The man in there, he’s my brother-in-law, sure. But he’s also got the reputation of being the most tough-on-crime warden in decades.” He ushered her around a corner when a couple of guards passed him by, giving them a vacant nod as they greeted him. When they retreated, he turned back to her. “We haven’t had a single escape attempt in _fifty years_. Way things are going, there’s going to be a lot of downsizing. Good men will lose their jobs. Things are going to get ugly real fast. People are going to start talking to save their asses and the warden’s going to take every lead seriously until we catch these guys.” 

Orihime’s chest tightened with guilt, feeling the tremble in her own voice when she murmured, “Why–what are you saying?” 

His eyes studied hers carefully. “If there’s anything, _anything_ at all you want to tell me before we go in there,” he said slowly, “now would be a good time to do it. _Before_ you go see Kuchiki Byakuya.” 

For a moment, Orihime wondered if he knew. If he’d sat up in bed one night after he’d put his baby daughter to bed and cursed his kind heart for inviting a traitor to his home. She took a shaky breath, wondering if she was the type of woman to go scurrying into shelter when shit hit the fan. She might have been, once. Maybe she still was, somewhere deep within. 

But not today. 

“I have nothing to hide, Abarai-san,” she replied finally, staring Renji dead in his eyes. 

The way he looked at her, she might as well have been a dead woman where she stood. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

  
  


Kuchiki Byakuya’s office was irrefutably dark, the only light seeping in through pale curtains at the north of his chair. The man himself was seated, his figure casting a long shadow ahead of him. It was quiet – eerily so – and the way his hands were locked over each other on the table, Orihime suspected he was an indomitable man. 

Renji closed the door behind them, before stationing himself over at the far corner of the room. Orihime’s knees felt like jelly, standing in the middle of the room rather uncomfortably with no course of action. 

“Dr. Inoue, please,” Byakuya waved his hand ahead of him, beckoning her to take a seat. 

“Thank you,” she replied quietly, settling down on the frankly uncomfortable chair. 

“I am sure you can appreciate the gravity of the situation.” Byakuya intoned, cutting right to the matter as he stared at her. “If your policy in answering my questions is utter honesty, there should be no need to fear an inquisition or a visit down to the courthouse. As of now, all our inquiries stand on conjecture.” He tapped a tiny, black box on the table with one, long index finger. “You will be recorded. Do you consent?” 

He stated the words plainly, but something about his monotonous demeanor made it sound like a threat. Nonetheless, Orihime straightened in her chair. “Yes,” she replied, watching him click the recorder on with a whir. “I intend to cooperate with the investigation in whatever way you would need me to, sir.” 

“Very well,” Byakuya replied, staring down at a clipboard of papers in front of him. He confirmed her background details mechanically – name, age, education, where she worked prior. It was all pretty standard procedure, but Orihime couldn’t temper the gnawing in her gut when he set aside the clipboard to regard her attentively. 

“Dr. Inoue,” he started, eyes scanning her coolly, “Are you aware that the four inmates: Yasutora Sado, Ishida Uryu, Kurosaki Ichigo–” 

– Orihime tried not to straighten curiously –

“– and Hirako Shinji, are the names of the four convicts that escaped Seireitei State Penitentiary late last night?” 

“I- I saw the news, yes sir,” she said softly, fighting the urge to dig her nails into her palms. _Shinji, too?_ she wondered, thinking of the man who had once declared his proposition to escape. 

“What was the nature of your relationship with the escaped fugitives?”

Orihime bit her lip to hold down a gasp, not expecting him to get straight into the crux of things. But as Renji had said, Kuchiki Byakuya was all business. 

She took her time, weighing each word with deliberation as her eyes drifted to the recorder. “I knew them in passing. Some of them were my patients.”

Byakuya peered down at his papers. “I see.” He leaned forward. “It is my understanding that on your first night in Seireitei, you were the attending doctor to Kurosaki Ichigo, yes?”

Orihime felt her fist curl tightly around her purse, blood rushing to her ears as she attempted to keep calm. “That’s right. He came in with a broken rib, which was the primary reason we admitted him, spare a couple of bruises.” 

“Were you well-acquainted with the escapee at the time?”

“No, sir. I had never met him before,” she replied promptly. 

Without any hesitation, almost hawk-like, he asked, “What about after? How would you describe your relationship with the fugitive during his incarceration here?”

Orihime swallowed. “Kurosaki-san?”

Byakuya said nothing. She assumed that was her cue to continue, much to her dismay. 

“We-ell, he came in a few times for his check-ups and he was the inmate assigned to prison industry at the infirmary, so we talked sometimes,” she explained, fidgeting with her fingers. 

_We had sex, right on one of the infirmary beds,_ she thought, _with no one but Ukitake-san and God as conscious and unconscious witnesses._

Her face flooded with such terrible heat she nearly missed the next question. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, doctor,”– he didn’t seem to believe he was – “but it says in my report that on the night of the riot, he was present in the infirmary with you for an entirety of...six hours. Correct?” 

“I – yes,” she whispered. Behind her, she heard a rustle of movement as Renji shuffled his feet. 

“Yet, there seems to be forty-five minutes of your time that was unaccounted for. Where were you during that time, Dr. Inoue?” He pinned her down with a gaze that was far too stoic to be considered curious. 

“Erm, as I mentioned in my report, I was tending to Zaraki-san,” she explained. “Then I headed straight back to the infirmary.”

“I see. Was this before or after Kurosaki Ichigo arrived at the infirmary?”

“Before.” 

There was a beat of silence. Orihime wondered if it was such a good idea to have eaten breakfast before she turned into work today. 

Byakuya propped one hand under his chin, like Orihime was his sole focus of attention. “Now, what I’m having trouble understanding, Dr. Inoue, is why you would return to the clinic if your shift had ended three hours prior. Surely there was nothing holding you back from heading home?” 

Her brain tried to tear apart and piece back together what he was trying to insinuate rapidly, as her mouth began to reply to his question, “Ukitake-san was all alone, so I wanted to stay with him until a guard arrived.” 

“And what of Kurosaki Ichigo? Were you reluctant to leave him alone as well?” 

Orihime opened her mouth, then paused. “I don’t know how to answer that question.” It seemed rhetorical. 

Byakuya’s eyes met Renji’s briefly, behind her shoulder. Then, they flickered back to her. “Were you aware, Dr. Inoue, that the route the fugitives took last night was a tunnel through your office?” 

_“I_ am _breaking out...and it’s right through your office.”_

“I wasn’t,” she lied, the taste of it sour on her tongue. 

“It seems awfully convenient that you’ve been sitting on the exact same passage that four escaped convicts – one of whom spent hours here in your company – used, and you had not the lick of an idea it was even there,” Byakuya suggested. 

Behind her, Renji cleared his throat loudly. When both Orihime and Byakuya turned to him, he simply stared at his feet. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Bad throat.” 

Orihime turned back, then spoke at a rate a lot slower than her heart was, “I’m sorry, sir, but from what I’ve heard, administration wasn’t aware of it either, so I‘m not sure how I could have discerned something like that when I spent most of my time working with my patients.” 

_Smart ass,_ Ichigo would have teased.

Something akin to irritation flashed in Byakuya’s eyes at her answer. “I see,” he said stonily, “ I think we’ve wasted sufficient time beating around the bush here, Dr. Inoue, so let's get to the facts. _The fact_ is that my men found traces of blood matching Kurosaki Ichigo’s all over your clinic floors. Evidenced right from his assault, we think, on my adjutant there.” 

Orihime’s purse suddenly fell to the floor, but the _‘thud’_ sounded distant to her own ears. 

“All sixteen hospitals in this district have been given the photographs and records of the escapees; if he’s cunning enough to avoid medical treatment and subsequent capture, chances are, he will die from the blood loss.” 

Her throat was so dry, brain buzzing with an intensity capable of a migraine. _Was Ichigo hurt?_

“You could save him, doctor,” Byakuya said, watching her keenly. “The sooner we find him, the sooner he will be brought back. I care not for vagabonds with no respect for the law, but legally, we are obliged to provide him medical treatment until the end of his sentence.” He leaned forward. “I think you catch my meaning quite well when I say our hands are the only hands equipped to rescue a man living off of blood loss and prison nutrition in his system right now.” 

Orihime couldn’t breathe, the raw ache of her nails digging into the skin of her palms fierce enough to bleed. She couldn’t tell behind the man’s darkened gaze if he was bluffing or not. She couldn’t drive around Tokyo looking for him herself because she _didn’t know_ where he was. She couldn’t turn over her shoulder and ask Renji how hard he had fought back. 

_“There’s a ‘you should’ve seen the other guy’ joke in there somewhere, I’m sure.”_

Faintly, Orihime wondered if her pulse could speed enough to bring on a heart attack. The symptoms were all there, slow crawling their way up her system. She had to save his life. She had to preserve his secret. She had to – she didn’t _know_. She couldn’t tell up from down anymore and Ichigo was _out there somewhere_ , possibly hurt. 

_“You could save him, doctor.”_

“I...I don’t,” she stuttered, feeling lightheaded. 

_Ichigo_ , she thought urgently, _what would you do if it was me?_

Would he drag her back, or set her free? Would he rush to save her, or would he trust her enough to make her own fate? She found herself thinking back to the night they met. How he went from outright dismissive of her abilities, to the faith he placed in her to save Ishida Uryu's life. How he trusted her enough to tell her his past, to confide in her his hope for his future. Their future. 

She took a deep breath. Maybe Ichigo would have done the same, maybe he would have done differently. But she knew what she had to do. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said calmly, raising her eyes to meet Byakuya’s in a determined stare. “But I have no idea where they are...or what they’re planning to do next.”

Byakuya’s fist turned white where it was curled around the clipboard head. “I see,” he seethed, standing up. “So among all the sweet nothings whispered within my walls, there was not a single word? Not _one_ sordid confession–”

“Sir!” Renji interrupted in yell, stepping forward from where he stood like he was trying to block a hit. “That’s an outrageous accusation!” 

“Then tell me, Abarai, how the _devil_ four cons slipped under these confines with none but God as their witness!” He slammed his hand on the desk For a man who was stoic as they came, Byakuya’s eyes were wide-blown with rage. Orihime shrunk into herself, staring hesitantly up at Renji. 

For a while, none spoke. The entire conversation hung on a tightrope, Renji being the one that held the force that would ultimately push them off. Orihime’s pulse had heightened so loud, she could feel it throb in her throat. 

“I’m sorry, doc,” Renji said finally, offering her a hand. “You’ll have to excuse the warden. I think we’re done here.” 

Orihime stared between Byakuya and Renji, but the former had already clicked off the recorder and turned to regard the wall dismissively. Renji sighed, nudging her shoulder with his hand. 

Orihime stood up wordlessly, picked up her bag, and joined him. 

They didn’t stop until they were well out the door, well past the corridor that housed the administrative office. When they halted, Orihime bit her lip with uncertainty. 

“God, I’m sorry, Dr. Inoue,” Renji muttered, running a hand through his face. “He’s just...he’s not himself at the moment. This has never happened under his jurisdiction before and it, uh, reflects poorly on his lineage, considering he inherited the job from his father and grandfather before him.” He finally met her gaze. “It was wrong of him to say those things, though. You didn’t deserve that.” 

Orihime nodded shakily, hands still trembling from Byakuya’s outrage. “It’s alright, Abarai-san,” she said softly. “Thank you for standing up for me back there.” She felt an ache at the back of her throat, the first bellwether of tears. “And I’m so sorry you got hurt. If you ever need me to take a look–” 

Renji raised his hand, cutting her off. His eyes, however, were not unkind. “Look, I’m an outsider, I get it,” he said, watching the up and down bob of her throat. “But whatever it was, I hope it was worth it.” He gestured around him. “Worth all this.”

Orihime sighed.

He is, she thought, but did not say. 

For a while, neither of them said anything. Orihime mumbled something about checking up on her patients, and Renji nodded absently. 

While she began to leave however, Renji called out to her. 

“Yes, Abarai-san?” she asked, turning over her shoulder to regard him. 

In the spaces between them, it almost seemed like Renji was going to ask her something – maybe even hazard a guess that wouldn’t entirely be inaccurate. But he stopped halfway, shaking his head. 

Orihime took that as her cue to flee, not stopping once until she reached the confines of the infirmary. 

And once she bolted to the bathroom and locked the door resolutely shut behind her, she threw up. 


	23. Outwards and Onwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life, in the aftermath of a historic prison break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be honest with you, this is one of my favourite chapters that I’ve written.
> 
> Kahlil Gibran’s ‘On Love’ has been referenced and paraphrased, later on in this chapter. Peace!

_One month later_

_._

_._

Winter in Seireitei was secluded, the high grounds sheathed to the brim with pure, white snow. The withering bracken and newly-growing ivy along the spires of the penitentiary were signs of change, signs that it had been nearly a month since Ichigo and the others had escaped. 

Orihime would have wished to say that things had gotten better, but it hadn’t. The fear of being made had only reduced to a faint murmur that still lingered in her heart as she went about her work at the infirmary. True to Renji’s words, there had been a massive shift in the atmosphere of Seireitei – both people and policy-wise. Only days ago, Tetsuzaemon Iba had been asked to hand in his badge and pack up his things. 

_“It’s alright, Dr. Inoue,”_ he’d said good-naturedly as they had hugged. _“Man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”_

Though, when he had reluctantly said goodbye to Dr. Isane, Orihime felt _awful_. He was going to be missed dearly, though he definitely wasn’t the only one. Nearly any and all employees who’d even had a whisper of something to do with the escape had been asked to move to greener pastures. 

Orihime herself had avoided a similar fate only by a hair's breadth, her status as the prison doctor rather sacrosanct in that they couldn’t find any viable replacements with similar credentials. 

Abarai Renji, too, had made it out safe, but the sorrow of everyone who’d been made to leave weighed heavily on the shoulders of those who chose to stay. He’d been busy with the investigation, but much of the heat on the case had fizzled out by the middle of December. The trail had gone cold.

Rather, there was simply no trail to follow. It was like the men had vanished without a trace. And as snow began setting in and leads began to wither out, even the police force had reluctantly withdrawn the scent-tracking hounds from the premises. 

That wasn’t to say there weren’t any new leads; Orihime heard from some of the other staff that calls came in nearly every day with tips or sightings, but none of them had borne any captures. Even the papers had taken to burying the then-sensational story in tiny columns on page three, only a miniscule of attention compared to what it had only a month ago. The media had tried every angle – from family, to history, to crime scene – only to turn up empty on anything that could grab the public’s interest. Even fear tactics had eventually drained out. 

“It sure was lucky you weren’t here that night, Doctor-san,” Hanataro said to her, over his mug of hot chocolate. “God knows what would’ve happened!” 

Orihime sipped her own drink, staring out into the grounds vacantly. Sure enough, her job had only barely been saved, but she often wondered what could have happened that night if she had stayed. She’d turned over all the possibilities in her head – from saving Ichigo’s life, to landing up in hot water herself – but they all seemed as distant and liminal as a dream. The choices they had all made had cemented them where they were; she only hoped that Ichigo’s had kept him alive. 

“I still can’t believe the warden laid off so many people,” Orihime muttered, nursing her cup as she sat on the edge of the counter. “So many jobs are gone – especially now, in the winter.” She squeezed her eyes shut, wondering of the families that had been affected by this change. 

“I’m sure they’ll find better offers,” Hanataro said kindly, clapping her on the shoulder. He picked up a little kit and jerked his head northwards. “Want to help me groom Ukitake-san today? You look like you could use some distraction.” 

Orihime sighed, shaking her head. “I think I’m going to get some refills from the vending machine,” she said, straightening up. She gave Hanataro a faint smile. “I’ll be back soon, though.” 

Hanataro nodded, then bit his lip. “You know, Dr. Inoue,” he began slowly, “It’s alright to miss him, even if he’s a con.”

Orihime’s eyes widened, her heartbeat flaring rapidly. “What do you mean?” 

“Kurosaki-san, I meant,” he replied, with a shrug. “You two were close, right? If you’re upset about not being able to help him anymore, you shouldn’t be. I’m sure whatever you could give him in his time here helped him heal from whatever he was going through.”

“I–” Orihime paused. “You think so?” 

Hanataro clicked his teeth. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’d crap my pants if I ever encountered one of them out in the streets,” he said, and chuckled nervously when Orihime let out a laugh. “But yeah. Wherever Kurosaki-san is, I’m sure he’s grateful for everything you tried to do for him. The others, too. It’s nice to not feel alone, even if it’s just for a little while.” He made a face. “Though I wouldn’t want Hirako-san to owe me anything, if I were you.” 

Orihime giggled. “Point taken, Hanataro,” she said sweetly, taking his cup from him. “I’ll go get those refills.” 

She took the long way out, traipsing up the corridor to the vending machine. The familiar sounds of swinging doors and idle conversation of the day doctors once used to be a source of comfort for her. Now, it just felt...lonely. It had never occurred to her just how tranquil it had been, that one hour a day Ichigo used to drop by. 

_“It’s nice to not feel alone, even if it’s just for a little while.”_

She turned over Hanataro’s words in her head with a grimace. That hadn’t just been true in Ichigo’s case. It was the exact same thing for her, too. 

Turning the corner around one of the long, administrative sections, she saw a familiar figure coming out of the warden’s office. When he saw her, his eyes brightened. 

“Ah! Dr.Inoue,” Shunsui said, coming up to her with a wave. “Fancy running into you. I’d been meaning to stop by your office lately.” 

“Kyoraku-san, hi!” she greeted, “How come?” 

He flashed a set of papers in front of her. “Release forms,” he explained, to the curious look on her face. “Looks like all that good behavior paid off because they’re letting me out around Christmastime this year.” 

“Oh, Kyoraku-san, that’s wonderful!” Orihime cheered, ignoring odd looks from spectators as she hugged Shunsui around his middle. When they came apart, she smiled brightly. “That’s brilliant! I’m so happy for you, well done.” Then, a sudden thought occurred to her. She turned over her shoulder to peer through the glass door, watching the limp form of Ukitake as Hanataro meticulously combed his hair. “But what about…?”

“Oh, I’m taking the old chap with me,” Shunsui explained, following her line of vision. “My niece runs a hospice – lovely girl, that one. We’ve already got a slot booked for Jushiro. Nice and quiet place by the mountains, so he can take his grand ol’ time and recover with whatever he needs.” 

Orihime felt her eyes grow misty. “That’s sweet,” she whispered, clasping her hands together. “Do let me know if there’s anything I can do for you two, once you’re outside.” 

Shunsui patted her head twice, a wide grin on his face. “Oh, you’re too kind,” he said. “Pretty girl like you, I’m sure you’ve got lots of young suitors you’d rather be seeing than two crabby old men.” 

Orihime turned pink. “Just the one, Kyoraku-san,” she admitted quietly. Shunsui grinned knowingly, walking with her down the corridor. When they reached a break-off point, she halted and blurted, “How do you do it?”

He raised a brow. “Hmm?”

“How do you wait so long for your love to come back to you without – without knowing for sure that it will?” she asked, too embarrassed to meet his eyes as she spoke the one question she’d been too afraid of asking in fear of seeming doubtful or silly. 

Shunsui scratched his beard pensively. “You ever heard of Kahil Gibran, doctor?” 

Orihime blinked. “Huh?”

“Brilliant poet,” Shunsui explained. “I think he said something along the lines of _‘love is to be wounded and to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn and give thanks for another day of loving.’”_ He turned to Orihime. “It takes work, love and patience. More so, at your age, when everyone’s getting settled down and you feel like you’re barely out of your diapers.” He pinched her cheek teasingly, chuckling when she swatted his hand away. “You wait, if it’s worth it. Or you forget about it and nab some nice businessman down the street. Marry his money and stare distantly into the ocean sometimes, shaking your head when your children ask you _‘What’s wrong, Mother?’_ as you remember the love you lost. _Is he out there? Is he still thinking of me_?” 

Orihime gaped at him for several moments, bewildered. Then, watching the curve of his poorly-hidden smirk, it dawned on her he was being facetious. 

“Kyoraku-san, you’re horrible!” she squealed, whacking him lightly as he laughed at her. 

“You should have seen your face, Doctor-chan,” he replied, fanning himself with his hands as he watched her face speed from red to purple in embarrassment. “You and my niece would get along quite well, you know.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you’re a right menace with her too,” Orihime huffed indignantly, as they came up to the mouth of the infirmary. “Thank you, though. Do send me your address once you’re out of here. I love to keep up correspondences with my patients.”

Shunsui’s eyebrows dramatically rose to the roof. “Oh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days? _Correspondences?_ ” 

Orihime spluttered. “Ky-Kyoraku-san!” 

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It was about a week later, when Orihime received a phone call. The woman on the other end sounded charming, her tone airy as she said,

_“Hello-o, am I speaking to Dr. Inoue Orihime?”_

“Yes, who’s this?” Orihime asked, lifting the trunk of her car with one hand as she balanced her phone between her head and her shoulder. She had early been ready to drive home when the call came. 

“ _Ugh, thank god. I swear that Ichigo makes me do so much work for him. Did you know how many directories I had to sift through to find your_ –” 

“Ichigo?” Orihime interrupted, before her eyes quickly darted around the parking area to see if she’d been heard. When it was obvious the coast was clear, she quickly sat down on the back of her car and spoke into the phone, hushed, “Where– sorry, what’s this about?” 

There was an annoyed huff on the other end. “ _This is Rangiku Matsumoto. You know, his lawyer_?” she explained. “ _Did he not tell you I would be in touch? That would be so typical of him!”_

Orihime clutched her phone with her other hand, heartbeat rapidly picking up pace. “No, no, he did,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been really worried and loopy, so please forgive me for being so out of it. Is he alright? Has he called?” 

Rangiku chuckled. “ _Okay, hold your horses– one at a time, please,_ ” she said, though she sounded more amused than annoyed. “ _I don’t know what’s up with him, sorry, I just know there’s a letter here addressed to you, it arrived this morning. If you could tell me when you’re free to pick it up–_ ” 

“Yes,” Orihime breathed immediately, already standing up to twist her keys into the car door. “I can come right now, if that’s okay? I just got off work.” 

“ _I guess. You got a pen with you?_ ” 

Orihime fished around her purse, nearly dropping her phone in the process. She withdrew one and uncapped it with her teeth. “Yes, I do, Matsumoto-san.” 

“ _Just Rangiku is fine. Let me give you the address to my office, how does that sound? I’ll be here until eight, later this evening, if you wanna come pick it up._ ” 

Orihime beamed happily. The prospect of a letter meant Ichigo was out there somewhere, relatively unhurt. And that he’d been _trying_ to get in touch with her at the soonest.

“That sounds perfect, Rangiku-san.”

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Rangiku Matsumoto’s office was, to say the least, huge. 

Orihime had driven up to a large, urban building that sat on the corner of the city square, ready to go receive her letter. It was only when she was ushered inside that she realized that her destination, a so-called office, was an entire floor. The polished glass doors, the expensive-looking plants that adorned the pathways up to the elevator – these were all indicators that Ichigo’s lawyer did not work for a small firm. But when the receptionist told her Rangiku could be found on the third floor – like, the entirety of it – Orihime had balked. 

While the full infirmary and the little cubby she worked in could be constituted as her own office, that still didn’t make up half the space of where Rangiku worked! Bobbing her head to the elevator music, Orihime felt quite daunted at the woman she was going to meet. If she remembered right, she had looked very professional and put-together when she came to see Ichigo, all those months ago. 

The elevator doors opened with a ‘ding’. Orihime straightened her skirt, then began navigating her way up the lines of cubicles. Many lawyers were at their desks, on the phone or perusing a bunch of files. Some idly played solitaire on their computers. Despite not having the urgency or fast-paced environment of a hospital, she could tell that everyone in here had something to do or someplace to be. 

Orihime’s eyes scanned the office, until her eyes landed on the blonde that she was slated to meet. She was standing over her desk in a private cubicle, balancing the phone over her ear as she regarded the mess of paperwork on her desk. Orihime walked up to the room, then waved behind the glass door. Rangiku beckoned her in with one finger. 

“No I did not _aid or abet_ my client to escape a state-level penitentiary, Shuuhei, what kind of a half-ass lawyer do you think I am?” she was saying, as Orihime entered the air-conditioned room. “Oh, you are _so_ going to regret saying that when I tell your boss who I caught you with last Saturday during rush hour at Hoshi’s.” 

Orihime’s eyes widened. Rangiku’s lips pursed apologetically, but she motioned for Orihime to take a seat. _‘Be with you in a sec,’_ she gestured, as Orihime plopped down in her chair. 

“That’s what I thought,” she said, seemingly satisfied. “See you Friday? Momo’s buying.” There was a murmur on the other line, followed by her wide grin. “Well, if _you_ buy, I’ll consider giving you the exclusive. Now get off the line, I’ve got some solicitors to meet.” She set the phone down.

“Hi,” Orihime said, feeling suddenly shy at the prospect of meeting someone close to Ichigo, practically his family. “I’m Dr. Inoue Orihime, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Rangiku, to her surprise, squealed. “Oh, aren’t you _cute!_ ” She rushed around the desk, before yanking Orihime up from her seat to give her a tight hug. “I told Karin you were a total ten and she didn’t believe me at all.” 

Orihime wheezed, quite overwhelmed with the floral scent and the buoyancy of the woman in front of her. Also the fact that Ichigo’s family, apparently, _talked_ about her. “I – thank you?” 

“You’re very welcome,” she replied casually, sifting through the heap of papers on her desk. “Can I get you anything to drink? A little snack, maybe? I carry peanuts in my purse for Toshiro, he’s a friend of mine.” 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Orihime said, vaguely remembering Ichigo mentioning a Toshiro, who was ten. She didn’t ask how that acquaintance came about, just smiled nervously at Rangiku. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you saying you haven’t been in touch with Ichigo.” 

“And you’re damn right about that!” Rangiku said, slamming a hand on the desk before pointing it upwards. “I told Ichigo almost every day – _‘tell Auntie Rangiku your problems, let her take care of this’_ – and what does he do?” 

“Escape prison?” Orihime replied, even though the question seemed a bit rhetorical. 

“Send his _girlfriend_ a letter!” Rangiku exclaimed, oblivious to Orihime’s blush. “Meanwhile, the media thinks _I’m_ harboring him somewhere! Ridiculous. I told them if I ever saw Ichigo again, I’d boot him straight back to prison for everything he’s put me and his family through, these last couple of weeks.” 

“How are they?” Orihime asked, softly. “Is anyone giving his sisters any trouble?”

Rangiku scoffed. “Like I’d let them,” she said. “Though it _has_ been hard for them to step out and get groceries, I’ll give you that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It’ll blow over. My contact in JSDF said most of them are ready to declare this a cold case already, if you can believe that. The police really spend their budget on anything but policing, huh? Bunch of pigs.” She took a breather, allowing Orihime to catch up with her word barrage.

“I...can I see his letter?” Orihime asked, eyes scanning the abundance of papers on her desk like she could somehow magically spot which one had come from Ichigo. Thankfully, Rangiku fished it from her drawer and handed it out. 

“I do hope you know you’re committing a felony just by breathing anywhere _near_ this,” she said seriously, but when Orihime’s eyes widened in utter fright, she gasped. “God, I was kidding!” She watched Orihime’s shoulders loosen up. “It is a misdemeanour, though.” 

“Rangiku-san!” 

Rangiku laughed. “Relax, I won’t tell on you, I’m the cool aunt,” she said, handing over the letter. “Here. I’ve got some paperwork to do, but you can sit in my office and read it.” 

Orihime reached out with trembling fingers, taking the starched white envelope in her hands. She wondered if Rangiku would think she was a weirdo if she lifted it up to smell it – just to see if she could discern where Ichigo had written from. She raised it, but when Rangiku’s eyes lifted curiously from her work, she quickly lowered it and began scratching open the flap with a fierce blush. 

Once the paper came free from the envelope, Orihime felt her chest hitch. She unfolded it, eyes savoring and scanning the familiar, long-scrawled handwriting she had come to be acquainted with: 

_Orihime,_

_We’re safe. Where we are currently, it’s safe. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t, so for now you’ll have to take my word for it. We made it. We’re out._

_The taste of freedom is pretty surreal so far, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the taste of brine in equal measure. I don’t have a return address yet, but when I do, I’ll write again. I hope you’re doing well. Thinking of you._

_Love,_

_15_

_P.S I asked Rangiku not to read this. If she gave any indication that she did, let me know. I’ll risk getting caught and come down there myself to kick her ass._

As Orihime read them over and over again, she felt herself quickly memorizing it word-for-word. The lines were few, but they were so _Ichigo_ she felt a huge breath of relief escape her. Despite his utter caution, he’d checked off every worry she had had time to come up with, this one month that she waited for word from him. 

_He knows me so well,_ she thought. She hadn’t even realized it, but large, splotchy tears had fallen from her cheeks – straight onto the fluttery paper. 

When she looked up, she noticed Ramgiku watching her with warm eyes. And despite her embarrassment over crying like that, the swell of relief in her chest was far, far more superior. 

“Say, doctor,” Rangiku said, shutting her folder before shooting Orihime a grin. “Wanna head out for a drink?”

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The next letter had come about two and a half weeks after his first. This time, with a raunchy postcard for some roadside love hotel. Her face flamed at the provocative image of the girl on the card, but she knew Ichigo had just done it to tease her, considering he himself was a bit shy. She _had_ sniffed it, however, catching the faint scent of gasoline and tarmac. A life on the road. The only difference now was that there was a neat little return address on the back, pointing to a ferry service somewhere in Hisaka. 

Sitting in Tatsuki’s living room now, she couldn’t help but read it again.

_Orihime,_

_Sorry for the long delay between letters. It took us a little longer than we thought to get to our destination. We’re here now, though, so here I sit, by the waterside – writing to you._

_Our friends married last week. It was pretty quiet, just the three of us and Abuelo – a quaint service. You would have liked it. They forced me to wear a suit for the wedding, but Four-Eyes (prick) says it’s dangerous to send across pictures; we’re being careful with mail, so no pictures for you, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to use your imagination._

_We’re still laying pretty low, but the difference is that I have a return address now. You can write to me, if you want. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted to say to you, but when I sit down to write, I can never put into words what I want to convey. I was never good with words, anyway, but you knew that._

_Anyway, how are you? I hope they didn’t give you too much trouble, back at SSP. It’s been a long and hard month for me, not knowing how you’ve been or what you’ve been up to. It’s weird, because when I first met you, I didn’t think we’d be as close as we are now. Funny, how things work out. It’s cliche, I know – stop grinning._

_I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re happy, as you always are. And if you’re not, I hope you’ve got a shoulder to cry on._

_Did you like the postcard I sent you? I figured you would. Thinking of you, as always._

_Love,_

_15_

“You know, I don’t think that letter’s changed all that much since the last time you read it,” Tatsuki said, coming up to the armchair where Orihime was sprawled over. When Orihime gave her an indignant glare, she sighed. “What’s he written in there that’s so great anyway?” She tried to peer into the paper, but Orihime held it protectively to her chest. “Ugh. Okay, be like that. His handwriting looks like shit, by the way.” 

Orihime tutted, then went back to smiling at her letter. “I don’t know what to write back,” she admitted. “There’s so much I want to say to him and not enough…”

“Paper?” Tatsuki droned, with an exaggerated eye roll. She sank into the chair opposite Orihime and gave her a solemn look. “Listen, can I ask you something?” 

Orihime looked up curiously, nodding as she set down the letter in her lap. 

“What’s your endgame here?” she asked, with a sigh. “Drop everything and rendezvous at some holiday destination when the heat dies down? Walk off into the sunset and make babies or whatever?” She paused wearily, like she was debating saying what was coming next. “I’ll be honest, that doesn’t sound like you at all. You’ve put so much on the line to help him already, I don’t know if I like the idea of you going all hermit because you think you’ll never love like that again or something.” 

Orihime shook her head. “He never asked me to do that,” she murmured, staring at her hands. “And yes, I still want to wake up every morning and do my job, but that doesn’t make it any less...lonely.” She met Tatsuki’s gaze. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive, Tatsuki. I’m allowed to like my life as it is and still want him in it.” 

“So...what?” 

Orihime bit her lip, resting her head on the arm of the chair with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know,” she said softly, “We haven’t promised each other anything.” 

She thought a lot about it, about what she would have answered if he had asked; but Ichigo respected her too much to tie her down like that and she knew, grand and whimsical as it would have been, there was no telling who they would be in the future. How they would change. 

Tatsuki got up to pat her on the head. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, take your time,” she assured gently. “Either way, I’m here for you, okay? I want you to know that.” 

Orihime smiled. “Of course.” She watched after Tatsuki’s retreating figure, the low buzz of the television thrumming in the background. Reaching out to the empty sheet of paper resting on the coffee table in front of her, she picked up her pen. She still had no idea what to write to him, but she figured the best way to go about it was heart-first, as with everything else. 

Crouching by the table, she watched the ink glisten with the first words she began to write. 

_Dear 15,_

_Have you heard of Kahlil Gibran’s poetry? I think you’ll find it to your liking..._


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** dubious geography.

The first and last thing Kurosaki Ichigo saw before he slept was, almost always, the ceiling. Therefore, it should’ve been a logical conclusion that when he looked up from his hammock and saw an endless blue sky, he was a little disconcerted. 

Far from the smog and sea mist of the penitentiary, Hisaka was clear and unassuming in its disposition. If Ichigo traced the horizon from one rocky cliff to the little bay on the east, he was sure he’d spanned the entirety of the town that was tucked away in the island. 

In one hand, he clutched a wet rag, nursing the tender wound on his side. Securing supplies was easy enough on the way here. Vigilance had all but thinned out, the farther away Ichigo and his friends got from the city. A little disguise here, a pitstop at the pharmacy there and his rib was secure. On Ishida’s suggestion, he’d even gone ahead and bought a new chest pad. 

In the other was a letter from Orihime. He’d read it three times already -- nearly torn it to shreds the first time it arrived, anxious to know her state of being. When he’d had time to process her safety, he’d calmly read it again. And again. And then delivered an abridged version to Chad and Ishida, who were both rather concerned about her. 

Ichigo had never seen Orihime’s handwriting beyond the occasional prescription, but the neat, block letters put the entirety of doctors all over the world to shame. Her writing was open and free, earnest in its expression as she had always been. It sent a strange swell of relief and yearning down his spine. 

_Dear 15,_

_Have you heard of Kahlil Gibran’s poetry? I think you’ll find it to your liking. Or at least, I thought about you when I read his work. Now that my local poetry distributor is away, I suppose I’ll have to find other ways to fill my weekly quota. :(_

_Anyway, it makes me so happy that we’re able to write to each other now! I was so, so worried about you -- you have no idea. I’m glad to hear that you’re safe. And yes, I liked your postcard a lot. I also liked the dozens of stories Rangiku-san told me about your rather vibrant youth. Payback is quite dangerous, you see? (_ _⌒▽⌒_ _)_ _ゞ_

_I believe many congratulations are due from my end to our friends!! Please tell them I’m utterly delighted to hear of their wedding, and if you don’t have accessible medical treatment nearby, I will always be happy to help you in whatever way I can, via letters or phone calls -- if that’s a safe option for you. Please take care of Abuelo the best you can!!_

_I will not lie to you, I *am* a little upset that there were no pictures in your last letter. You would have looked dashing in a suit, I’m sure. My imagination, as always, is running wild._

_As for how I am, I’m fine. Things have been quiet at SSP, which is a good thing, I suppose, but sometimes I think it’s a little too quiet. I'm still getting used to the idea of looking over my shoulder and not seeing you there, making your funny faces (and God were they funny, K-san!). I think it’s quite amusing you didn’t think we’d be friends, because I knew right off the bat that we would be a diabolical duo (well, maybe not right off the bat, but close enough to it!). Whatever facility you were created in, they sure made sure you’d make a very interesting observation for the clinical eye. Teehee._

_I’m so happy you finally get to have a taste of your well-deserved freedom, but I’m afraid I don’t share the same supposed fondness you do for the brine in my office. It stinks! Nonetheless, please take care of your health and always remember, I’m only a letter away. I hope that, wherever you are, it’s filled with sunshine, and warmth, and only the best things. Once again, give my love to the newly-weds! I’m sure they’re really happy, at this wonderful juncture in their lives._

_Miss you._

_Love,_

_Orihime._

Somewhere beside him, a chair scraped against the patio. Abuelo sunk down slowly, twining the tubes of his ventilator as he sat. 

“Mind if I join you while you angst?” he said, chuckling with a wheeze when Ichigo scoffed at him. 

“What, your grandsons up and at it again?” Ichigo said, jerking his head back to the large penthouse that sat on the sand behind them. The establishment itself was large enough to house more than four people, but Ichigo knew it would come to feel emptier when the old man passed. Oscar Joaquin de la Rosa had a gentle grace about him, a presence that made itself felt without saying much. Ichigo liked his company, considering he was an older, albeit cheekier version of Chad. It helped that the man’s wisdom was just as rational, if not more profound. 

“Young love,” Abuelo said with a knowing smile. “You know how it is.” 

Ichigo snorted. He did, didn’t he? The evidence was right there, in his hand. 

“It’s been four years,” he said, instead. “You’d think they’d have toned it down by now.”

“Perhaps. I’d be the world’s most disappointed grandfather if they did, though.” 

They laughed together, an amicable silence between two people who had been tangentially aware of each other to the point where their first meeting hadn’t felt like a first meeting at all. 

Abuelo sighed, the air he took in raspy as it came out with a cough. He shook himself off, like that would help, then nodded at the letter. “Sado said you’d made a tough choice,” he said wistfully. When their eyes met, Abuelo smiled. “I don’t think we can be grateful enough for your help.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Ichigo replied immediately, not even half-surprised that he meant it.

Yet, sitting idle on a beach now, in the middle of nowhere, he couldn’t help but be weighed down by the lingering uncertainties -- his mother’s faceless murderer, his own supposed guilt sealed on paper, his sisters, his…

He squeezed his eyes shut. _Not_ his. But critical to him in a way where she’d waltzed into his bleak life and painted him in all the colors. Held on to his heart and his dignity when he’d been too disillusioned to see it for himself. 

All said and done, they had won. They had broken out of a secure prison, made it out _alive_ , and lived in fair harmony and anonymity among oblivious fishermen and locals who couldn’t give less of a damn about who they were. 

Yet. 

Was there a future where things were different? It seemed unlikely even now, and he was sure the eventual guilt of making Orihime wait for him would have extinguished anything long before it began.

_Yet_. If he could, would he have done differently?

“Regret is bitter company, you know,” Abuelo pointed out sagely, eyeing Ichigo from his peripheral. 

“Grass is always greener on the other side, right?” Ichigo said, with a shrug. Even back at Seireitei -- _‘the other side’_ \-- he’d been so used to the order of things, of things being thrust upon him that he’d barely taken a minute to wonder if he deserved any of it. Tasting freedom now was vindication, but it didn’t leave him any less uncertain than he was before. 

“No one expects you to cope overnight,” Abuelo said kindly, clapping Ichigo on his shoulder as he rose to his feet. “Take your time. Make your peace,” He jerked his head at the letter, before once again making his way back inside. 

“Thanks,” Ichigo called out, catching the faint whiff of lunch when Abuelo slid open the door. It would be time to eat soon, to rest up so his injury would heal well. Maybe he’d take a walk later, stretch out his limbs. The sudden burst of freedom left him open to the endless possibilities, anyway. 

For now, he had a letter to write back. 

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“If new evidence came to light,” Orihime started, eyes flicking to the last scrum of bar goers usher themselves out, before turning back to Rangiku with a hopeful gleam, “then Ichigo could still be exonerated, right? Even if he isn’t technically _in prison?_ ”

“Theoretically, sure,” Rangiku said, with a shrug. “I know _I_ won’t stop looking around, but the chances of finding the straggler who shot Masaki in a city this big...I don’t know, Orihime. He could be out there, he could already _be_ in prison for another offense. He could even be dead, for all we know.” She sighed. “ _‘Drunk man confronted us in an alley’_ doesn’t give a lot for us to go off of, and it’s been too long since it happened for the evidence to still be fresh.” 

Orihime sighed glumly. “I guess.” 

Rangiku slapped her hand lightly, the sting distracting her from her downward spiral as she guffawed up at the woman in surprise. “Cheer up,” she said merrily. “Better to be out and about than in with no takers for your case, right?” She met Orihime’s gaze and winked. “Last I checked, no one’s stopping you from taking a little visit. A long weekend of --” 

“Rangiku-san!” Orihime interrupted with a splutter, far too used to her euphemisms at this point to know whatever was going to come next was going to leave her _mortified_. 

“Wha-at,” Rangiku sang, looking thoroughly pleased with Orihime’s discomfort. “Ichigo was like, the last person I expected to have a _prison romance_ of all things, I’m allowed to tease him.”

“He isn’t even here!” Orihime protested hotly, crossing her arms to hide the pink in her cheeks. Really, was it so bad that they met in prison? Was it really that worse than meeting a half-drunk at a bar or a pompous brat at a medical conference? _Honestly!_

“He’s here in spirit,” Rangiku said, sleepily patting the seat next to her and making wet and loud kissy noises. Orihime shook her head, but decided to let it be. 

As things wound up for the night, the two women shrugged on their coats and made their way out. The mid-winter chill was still crisp in the air and the city looked rather beautiful -- if not a little lonely. Orihime was absently humming to herself, when Rangiku tackled her from behind and hugged her. They nearly staggered off their feet, but Orihime braced herself on the pavement last minute. 

“Rangiku-san?” Orihime ventured, after a moment’s worth of silence. 

“They’re all so grateful to you, y’know,” Rangiku mumbled, her perfume enveloping Orihime in a heavy-scented hug. “His family. I am, too.”

Orihime bit her lip, grinning sheepishly at the passers-by as she considered Rangiku’s words. “I didn’t really do much,” she admitted, looking down at where Rangiku’s hands were locked around his waist. 

“You made him happy, kiddo,” Rangiku said, heavily patting Orihime’s head before pulling apart. “That’s more than most, in these last few godawful years he spent at Seireitei.” She began walking up to the storefront to call a cab, putting a little distance between them. 

Orihime thought of Ichigo, of his long-drawn frown and his hard-set eyebrows. Of the bruises he’d arrived with, the feeling that he deserved it so _innate_. Of how he’d begun to discard those ridiculous notions, open up just a crack for her and his well-meaning friends to slither in. How relaxed they had been, even for a moment, when he’d spared her a rare smile or a lopsided grin and suddenly, her chest filled with a sunburst of warmth. She felt like maybe, _maybe_ they were all right. That the signs were there and she was too drowned in guilt to see it. That he had been _happy_ , and she was -- in part -- the reason. 

“Hey, come on,” Rangiku called out, snapping her fingers as she half-opened a car door. 

Orihime’s face split into a small grin, and she trotted up to the car ahead of her. 

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About a few weeks later, Orihime had somehow been ushered to a bar again. This time, with a different set of people. 

“The fallen man seldom stays fallen, my friends,” Iba bragged, standing up and thrusting his glass of beer in the air like he was making a declaration. “That being said, I _am_ considering getting a tattoo.” 

Orihime and Isane caught each other's gazes and tried to stifle a laugh. Though it wasn’t specifically stated, celebratory drinks that night were in honor of the now-unemployed guard of Seireitei. And as hard as it had been to let him go, it _did_ seem that the fallen man seldom stayed fallen. 

Beside Iba, in the cramped booth, Renji snorted and tugged him down by his belt. “You can’t pull off a tattoo, Iba. ‘Sides, what would your mom say?”

Iba’s temporary glee fell back into a sullen frown. He sank down in his seat and drowned the rest of his beer. “She’s not the boss of me,” he muttered anyway, and no one believed him. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Iba-san,” Isane assured, before nudging Orihime with her elbow as she dragged the latter back into the conversation. “Though I am a little concerned about this one. Ichihara’s pretty far up north, y’know? You’re not running away from us yet, are you?” 

Orihime smiled, feeling it strain on her mouth. “I’ll be in touch,” she promised. “I just think a juvenile facility will be more my speed.” 

Her transfer to a smaller, more rehabilitation-based facility had been somewhat of a surprise to all her co-workers, to whom it had seemed that Dr. Inoue was not only competent, but satisfied with her job. Of course, it appeared that way on the surface. Hardly anyone, spare those intimate with the case, knew of the underlying guilt that trailed her as she went about her day. Justified or not, she had violated one of the fundamental principles she had vowed to take as a doctor. It was only fair she took her exit with grace, while she could still look her patients in the eye. 

Across from the table, Renji watched her for a second. Then, the look in his eyes brightened again, normal as ever. “Eh, the doctor’s gonna be fine, Dr. Isane,” he said, with a dismissive wave of hand. “Weather’s much better up north anyway. Rukia was saying the other day, how we gotta boot up even to visit the front lawn, the way this cold is going.” 

Renji’s smooth segue led to everyone transgressing into a chorus of discussions about the weather and whatnot. Dinner carried on, organic as ever, as the night grew darker and busier. Orihime anchored herself to the moment, cherishing the camaraderie she’d managed to build with these people -- these good people that had taught her a thing or two about the practicalities of the real world. 

By the time they were just about winding up, Iba had passed out on the smooth booth chair, mouth open in a loud snore; Isane all the way across the room, had managed to chat up a random group of people by the pool table. Renji nudged Iba’s shoulder on the way out, snorting when the man simply slumped over onto his side. 

“God, why did I let him drink,” Renji muttered, stepping out of the way as Orihime sidled out of her side of the booth. 

She giggled, before helping a blacked out Iba sit up again in fear he’d vomit. “Will he be alright?” she asked, turning over her shoulder. 

Renji scoffed, fishing out his phone to snap a picture. He set it down, then grinned at her. “He won’t have a choice, not when I send this to Mama Iba,” he said, thumbs brushing over the buttons of his phone. 

As they made their way down the narrow aisle and headed up to the entrance, Renji halted. Orihime stopped with him, tilting her head curiously at his frown. 

“You don’t have to quit, y’know,” he said with a sigh, like he’d been mulling it over for a while now. “You did good. Better than Iemura did, at least.” 

Orihime’s eyebrows creased, but her eyes grew wet at his praise. “Not looking forward to seeing him again, Abarai-san?” She sniffed surreptitiously behind her sleeve. 

Renji chuckled. “Nah, not really,” he said, elbowing her. “I mean, _he_ never asked me for bean paste the day he stepped foot on the penitentiary.”

Orihime laughed, a trilling sound that spilled out of her as she clapped her hands together in glee. 

Renji shook his head. “Still. There's a place for you here yet,” he said, then paused as his eyes widened. “Unless you got something waiting for you up north.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, only-half-joking like he was expecting Orihime to suddenly reveal where those damned convicts were. 

She almost laughed again. “There’s nothing waiting up for me up north, Abarai-san,” she assured. No _one_ , rather, but they both understood it even if she hadn't said it. She smiled a little sadly, craning her neck up to see Renji. “I will miss you though.” 

He shook his head, then pat her on _her_ head. “You don’t have to,” he said, and despite the unspoken acknowledgement between the two of them, she felt comfortable. “You’re always welcome around these parts.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered, giving him a loose side-hug. He returned it, squeezing her shoulder as they parted. 

“Good luck,” he said, shaking her hand firmly like he had when they first met. “It was a pleasure working with you, doc.” 

Orihime smiled sweetly. “Likewise, Abarai-san.” 

Renji turned over his shoulder, cupping his mouth as he hollered, “Oi, Iba, get your ass up! We’re heading out!” 

Iba slumped, his face crash-landing in a bowl of leftover udon. 

Renji and Orihime shared a mutual look of alarm, before darting back to go rescue him. 

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The most recent of letters was still sitting in Orihime’s purse, carefully wedged between her wallet and her compact mirror as she traipsed up the stairs of her apartment. Its presence was a constant throughout the night, a comforting weight in the back of her mind that somehow, somewhere, Ichigo was alright. And aching as it was without him, the very reminder of it was comforting. 

She closed the door behind her, muting the outside sounds as she pushed aside her belongings to reach for his letter. She pulled it out, then tossed her bag onto a nearby couch to grab a glass of water. 

When she returned, she had her butter knife in hand as she regarded the familiar scrap of paper. The long-scrawled handwriting. Long before she’d even pried the glue open, her eyes were already scanning the contents. 

_Orihime,_

_I wasn’t talking about the brine, idiot. I was talking about you. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were trying to wheedle that one out of me._

_Anyway, Kahlil Gibran, huh? Interesting choice. I read the poem you mentioned in your last letter. As it turns out, Abuelo is a fan. Sappy romantic, that guy -- but then again, you’ve met his grandkids. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, or so they say. Thankfully, I’ve found solace in this little outhouse in the back; no more third-wheeling for me. Your congratulations have been passed on and well-received._

_I’ve had a lot of time to think, in the time that I’ve been gone. Truth is, the world is different now. It’s changed -- some days it's easier to get used to, others leave me wondering if I was better off back at SSP, having some guard tell me what to do, how to live. Then again, when I think about my sisters and how they don’t have to worry about me anymore, I feel like I’m alright again. Funny thing, this brother business. I send them letters too, but not often. They’re fine as they are, I don’t want to hold them back._

_I think about you too. A lot more often than I’m comfortable admitting, but I do. When we were together, I was always afraid -- not of you, or us getting caught, or any of that shit, but of how much you made me feel just by being yourself. It was a good feeling; it gave me courage when I didn’t have a lot left of it. I watched you every day, doing your job like it was the most important thing in the world. Loving me like I was worth the work it took to get me here. If there’s anyone on this planet (or others) that deserves everything and then some, it’s you. And I hope you get it. I hope you get to do everything that you’d ever wanted to do._

_I know you said I would be your last, but I still want you to try. And if, one day, you find that you can’t give the kind of love you give me to another, let's start over and try this thing again--for good this time._

_Until we meet again._

_Love,_

_Ichigo._

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_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cowers in fear* AHHHH it’s over, please don’t kill me!!!! I know a lot of you anticipated/wished for a happy ending, but considering the tone of the story, I just didn’t feel like it would cohere very well as opposed to an ambiguous ending. That isn’t to say this is a cop-out or I didn’t know how to end this, because funnily enough, when I started getting ideas for this story, this was the first chapter I had planned. The rest came after. 
> 
> As for Ichigo’s case, I was hesitant to leave it like it is after some of your reviews, but honestly? From my exposure to criminal justice, it’s not that uncommon for cases like these to go unsolved forever. While it isn’t ideal, it *is* realistic and the focus of this story, right off the bat, was (for me) more about the incarceration and post-incarceration than the sequence of events that led there anyway.
> 
> As always, thank you to every single person who read/reviewed/favorite this story! If you hated this, please go easy on me lol. Considering this is the first time I’ve written a story this long, I’m really proud of myself and overjoyed that I got to write it the way I wanted to. This has been such a fun and fulfilling experience and I honestly can’t wait to write more. Hope everyone had a good holiday, sending hugs! <3
> 
> Lots of love <3


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